Rooted in Tragedy
by whirdart
Summary: Almost 1 year after the demogorgon disappears, Jonathan Byers and Nancy Wheeler are the only ones left who are skeptical about its actual demise. Their mutual fear of its return draws them together to fight side by side again. (Jonathan/Nancy) -Note: I own no rights to Stranger Things. This is my first FanFic submission, so please excuse any naive mistakes as I am learning. :)
1. Chapter 1

Nancy

She caught herself looking out the window again, her school book wide open on the bed in front of her, its spine pressed flat against the mattress. Notecards filled with neat, black print were organized by color and stacked in a column.

The evening darkness was cut by a remarkably bright full moon, its light reflecting against every angled edge of shingles outside her window. It was bright enough to confirm, for the umpteenth time, that no one was out there. No athletic romantic interest with a confident smirk and playfully tussled hair.

Nancy reluctantly turned her attention back to her text. Steve's stealthy nighttime visits were a welcome distraction from studying. They were a welcome distraction from everything, really. But in the end, his distractions couldn't change the fact that Nancy's love for him was beginning to feel strained and forced.

When they split up, it was a mostly mutual decision. Steve was far from blindsided, but Nancy could detect his disappointment. And, if she was being honest with herself, Nancy was disappointed too. But, as she explained to Steve, their relationship began and took root in a series of tragedies and darkness.

What they needed to do was start over again from scratch.

"But I'm not ready to start again," Nance had explained, "Not yet."

Instead they managed an impossible cliché. They agreed to stay friends and, oddly enough, kept that promise. Steve was one of her closest friends now. They spent a lot of time together. Even chatted on the phone. The nighttime visits, though, they stopped.

No one was at the window.

But Nancy looked again.

And that's when she realized that she hadn't been checking her window every evening for weeks because she was looking for Steve.

She was still checking for the reemergence of the faceless nightmare. And she was waiting for Barb's corpse to float up from the Upside Down and prove what Nancy's carelessness had caused that night at Steve's house.

Another blank evening sky greeted her through the panes and she shook her head. _It's over_ , she thought. _It's over and it's done. It's over_.

She applied herself to the notecards – one more exam. School's last day was next week and the summer months promised relaxation and an end to this paranoia.


	2. Chapter 2

Jonathan

"Graduate in _what_?" Will asked. He was stuffing a few books in his backpack while watching Jonathan sign the form.

"In _absentia_ ," Jonathan replied. He scribbled today's date and looked up at Will's confused expression. "It's Latin," he explained. "It just means that I'm not going to the graduation ceremony, but I'm still graduating."

"Oh," came Will's response. He nodded his head a little, always willing to take his brother's word, then frowned as if rethinking the whole concept. "But won't Nancy be there?"

Jonathan half-laughed, half-exhaled. He looked at Will and for a moment felt oddly uncomfortable. Scooping up the form, Jonathan said pointedly, "I'm sure most of my class will be there."

He grabbed his keys and ushered Will out the door.

"Yeah, I guess," Will continued. "But Mike said you and Nancy—"

"Will," Jonathan cut in, "Give it a rest, huh? We worked together to get you. Everybody worked together. But that was months ago."

Will sat in silence for a few minutes as they drove down the road. Out of the corner of his eye Jonathan saw him staring out the car window.

"Did you see the new music store that's opening up downtown?" He asked.

Will perked up. "Yeah, I did."

"Want to go check it out this weekend? I heard they rent guitars. Maybe we can convince Mom to let you start taking lessons."

"Yeah!" Will exclaimed. He started fingering the strings of an air guitar. Jonathan turned on some music and the two sang until they pulled into the school parking lot.

As Will was getting out of the car, he said teasingly, "You know who else worked together to get me?" He shot Jonathan a knowing look. "Mom and Hopper."

Jonathan smiled. "Get to class."

Will would be staying at Mike's house tonight since Hopper was taking their mom out after work. They'd been seeing each other for a while now, ever since reality settled like dust on their world and Joyce could finally open her eyes to anything other than desperation in Will's absence. When she opened her eyes, what she saw was Hopper.

Jonathan was happy for them. At least things were finally becoming normal again for some people. He wondered how long it would take for life to go back to normal for him.

* * *

Hawkins wasn't a big town and it didn't have a huge cemetery, but you could get lost weaving around the headstones and giant oak trees if you didn't know where you were going.

Jonathan knew where he was going. When he reached the marker, he pulled out his camera and snapped a shot. What was that, the fifteenth picture he'd taken of the headstone in the past eight weeks?

Replacing the cover on his lens, Jonathan sat down in the grass, like he was facing off with the grave marker.

 _William Byers_ , it read.

Jonathan rubbed his temples with his fingertips. Somehow the grave had gone forgotten. Joyce would have gotten rid of the headstone, sold the plot, if she'd remembered it. He was sure of that. But its memory slipped into the ether of everything else she'd worked so hard to erase.

Now the grave was another one of Jonathan's stops. One of the landmarks that tied him to the horrific past that he was incapable of erasing. One of a handful of places that he spent hours of his life, sitting in silence and thinking about everything that happened and trying to convince himself that this unbreakable routine was just obsession. It wasn't a sign that things weren't done yet. Weren't over.

Suddenly he became aware that he wasn't alone. And in the instant it took him to spin around, he traveled from the certainty that the faceless monster had returned to the realization that he would have hit Nancy through blind fear if she had been standing any closer.

Instead he found himself breathless with shock. "You surprised me," he said by way of explanation.


	3. Chapter 3

Nancy

She didn't see him at first. He was sitting down, level with the grave markers. By the time she did see him, she knew that she'd finally found Will's grave. Who else's grave would Jonathan Byers be sitting in front of so intently?

Why she didn't call out, she didn't know. Maybe she didn't want to startle Jonathan; he looked so peaceful. But that is exactly what Nancy did, apparently.

She was only a few graves away when Jonathan stiffened. She opened her mouth to say something, but he jumped up so quickly, she didn't have the chance. Suddenly they were facing each other, him breathing rapidly, looking shocked and her with her mouth half open, looking ridiculous.

Nancy clamped her mouth shut.

"You surprised me," Jonathan said. He slowly relaxed.

"I'm sorry," she replied and she really was. Suddenly she felt like she'd interrupted a private moment. Even if the grave held nothing more than a dummy, it had an emotional significance to the Byers family. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "I'll go."

As she turned, Jonathan called out, "No." Nancy stopped in her tracks and looked over her shoulder. She pursed her lips questioningly. "No, stay. It's fine, really. I was just surprised is all."

She joined him at the grave. Jonathan was staring at the headstone, lost for a moment in reverie, and Nancy watched him curiously. His hair draped forward with the tilt of his head, framing his face and brushing his cheekbones. In his left hand was his camera – a trademark of Jonathan, though it felt odd to see one in a cemetery.

"Why are you here?" he asked. He looked up, catching Nancy's eyes as she quickly turned her face away.

Nancy took a minute to consider her response. "Well, I didn't know Will's grave would still be here," she said. After another minute she cleared her throat and stuffed her hands into her pockets, still avoiding Jonathan's gaze. "I've been thinking about what happened, you know? And Barb. We never even got her body. It's just," she turned to find Jonathan studying her. "It's just, there's no closure. And then I remembered Will's funeral and I wondered if he still had a grave since, well, he's not dead. But Barb…"

Jonathan nodded sympathetically. "I know. I'm sorry"

Nancy turned to face him. "Does it seem like everyone else has just forgotten what happened?"

"Yes," he breathed.

"They're all working so hard to embrace normal life again and I can't even sleep because I _know_ , Jonathan, I _know_ that it's…" She trailed off, catching herself before she said something that sounded insane.

"Not over?" Jonathan finished for her.

She looked up at him and nodded silently.

She realized two things at that moment - she was shaking despite the warm, late-spring air and she'd never been able to confide in anyone about her fears until now.


	4. Chapter 4

Jonathan

"Where else do you go?" Nancy asked from the passenger seat. Vertical strips of shadows passed over her lap as they drove past a line of birch trees.

Jonathan pulled down his visor against the late afternoon sun. "The library. That's where Mom and Hopper found Will. And around that government lab. Well, around the fence at least. My house, obviously. And where they found Will's bike. Sometimes I go to the reservoir, where they faked his death."

They pulled into Nancy's subdivision. When Jonathan stopped in front of Nancy's house, she turned to him. "Is that all?"

She raised her eyebrows, giving her an almost pouty look. A think lock of hair had come free from her ponytail and was dangling against her cheek. Jonathan had a sudden urge to brush it behind her ear. Instead he turned away, feeling his cheeks flush. "No," he said quietly.

Jonathan saw Nancy's mom watching them from the window. "Sometimes I go back to the tree – the woods – where you crossed over and saw that thing," he admitted. He could feel Nancy watching him and his cheeks grew warmer.

Nancy sighed and gathered her things. She hesitated, then, "I've never been so terrified in my life."

"I know," Jonathan said softly. He turned to her and she offered him a light smile before getting out. Jonathan blinked at his steering wheel. "Me too," he said to himself, then drove away.


	5. Chapter 5

Nancy

Her mom was waiting with an expectant look when Nancy came inside. When she didn't say anything, Nancy looked up innocently. "What?"

Her mom shrugged nonchalantly, but there was a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Steve called," She answered.

Nancy nodded.

"Was that Jonathan Byers?" she asked, looking out the window at the now-empty road.

"Uh, yeah," Nancy replied. "It was. He gave me a ride home."

Her mom bit her lip then asked, "Are you two…?"

"When did Steve call?" Nancy replied, avoiding her mom's question.

"Fifteen, twenty minutes ago."

Ignoring the look of irritation she was getting, Nancy breezed past her mom and climbed the stairs to her room. Inside, she sat on her bed, trying to collect her thoughts. She glanced at the phone. Maybe she should ask Steve what he thought?

No. She rolled her eyes as Steve's voice popped in her head. _Jonathan Byers is a nutcase, Nancy. What happened is over. It's in the past. And why are you hanging out with him anyway?_

Yes, of course he would challenge her decision to be around Jonathan. There was some evidence that Steve had convinced himself he'd gathered months ago that indicated Nancy's romantic interest in Jonathan. Or vice versa. Did it really matter?

She dialed his number, tucking away her nervous thoughts and adopting a happy-Nancy voice.

Steve was his usual jovial self. "So you want to read me your speech for practice?" he asked.

"What speech?" she asked.

She heard his snort of laughter. "Valedictorians typically give a speech at graduation, right? It's tradition."

"Oh," she let out a little laugh herself. "Yeah, I finished that a while ago."

"So, let's hear it."

Nancy turned to the pile of books and notes she'd deposited on her bed. She shuffled the pile and her heart dropped. "Shoot! I left it in –" She stopped herself from mentioning Jonathan's car. "I left it in my locker."

"No big deal," Steve replied. "I bet you've got it memorized anyway."

He was mostly right, but Nancy felt a strange urgency to get the speech back. There was an odd comfort in reading a page of false hopefulness in her own words. "Steve, I've got a few things to take care of. Talk to you later?"

The excuse that she had to run to the library to finish up her speech had gone over easily with Nancy's parents. Now, propping her bike against her hip at the side of the road, she gazed at Jonathan's car almost triumphantly.

Something had been bugging her about their conversation earlier. Despite Jonathan's house being the first obvious place to find him, she rerouted herself halfway there and found his car parked along the tree line of the woods where Nancy had entered the Upside Down.

"I hate this place," she whispered to herself as she entered the woods.

It was nearly dusk and the sky was beginning to change from a brilliant red to a hazy purple. Toads croaked in the fading light and an owl hooted nearby. The shadows cast by the trees were being muddled in the creeping dark.

She'd been walking for nearly ten minutes when she saw him ahead, taking practice swings with a familiar nail-studded baseball bat.

"Jonathan," she called out. Better play it safe and announce herself this time.

Jonathan turned, mid-swing and immediately tucked the bat behind him. He didn't seem as startled as he'd been in the cemetery, but Nancy thought she saw his face redden a little. Maybe it was from the cool air that was descending with the darkness.

He gave her a shy, crooked smile. "Were you looking for me this time?" he asked. "Or was this a coincidence too?"

Nancy crossed her arms against a chill that ran the length of her body. "I hate this place," she repeated.

Jonathan's smile faltered. He turned to his left and rested a hand against the tree that had once held the gateway to the Upside Down where Nancy had entered. "Could you hear me when you were on the other side?" he asked after a while. He looked back at her and continued, "I could hear you. I heard you calling my name, but it was muffled and distant."

Nancy moved closer. She placed her hand on the tree, like Jonathan, and nodded. "I could hear you." She squinted her eyes thoughtfully. "But, like you said, it was like there was this barrier between us, so your voice was cloudy."

She rested her other hand against the trunk, digging her fingers in, feeling the unyielding rigidness and convincing herself the gateway was gone. Closing her eyes, those few minutes of primal terror returned. The colorless, frigid copy of their world, the echoing silence and that monster – she shuddered against the memories.

Then Jonathan's hand covered hers and they were both facing the tree, hands planted firmly as if they were trying to push it over.

Nancy remembered the light then, that moment of profound hope when Jonathan pulled her out of hell and how desperately she'd clung to him. Still on the monster's threshold, she'd laid on the forest floor with Jonathan, fingers tangled in his hair, holding so tight it must have hurt him. But he didn't say anything. He just held her back.


	6. Chapter 6

Jonathan

Beneath his fingers Nancy's hand was cold and trembling, though he didn't think that was from the cool air. He was thinking about the night she crossed over and knew she was remembering it too. How the panic reached a pitch as he cried her name again and again into an empty fog. It was still nothing compared to the panic she must have felt.

Instinctively Jonathan curled his fingers under Nancy's palm, pulled her away from the tree and wrapped his arms around her. Without hesitation, she fell into him. Her hands felt suddenly steady as she held him tightly, breathing slowly into the thin folds of fabric bunched around his collar.

For two minutes they stood in each other's arms and while their eyes were closed, night fell, leaving the moon's light to cast an icy glow across the forest floor.

Nancy lifted her head and as she withdrew, Jonathan turned toward her. For a moment he gazed into her eyes, amazed at how much closer he felt now, facing her, than when they were intertwined. Suddenly Nancy leaned forward and as their lips met, Jonathan felt a rush of euphoria.

The kiss was a moment. Like the green flash of a setting sun, it ended as quickly as it began.

As Nancy began to pull away, their lips held together with the moisture in the air, like the night was resisting their separation. Nancy's mouth quivered and she stepped away. Her eyes were locked on Jonathan's.

At an utter loss for words, Jonathan just stared at her, fervently holding the memory of her lips pressing against his and the gentle tug as she pulled away.

Nancy finally closed her mouth and swallowed, looking around them as if realizing how late it was. "Um," she said, scrunching her forehead. The sound of her voice was strange after such a long silence. "I forgot my notes in your car earlier today."

And just like that, the moment ended.


	7. Chapter 7

Nancy

With her forefinger hooked into the back of the flat, Nancy pushed her foot in and stood up. She turned her leg left, balanced on her toes and admired herself in the mirror. The miniature pearl design was a nice touch, but, "I look a little matronly, don't I?" she asked.

Her mom rolled her eyes playfully and returned to the rack, finger pressed against her lip, scanning the sets of formal shoes. She pulled down a box and handed it to Nancy. "Maybe stick with heels, then, hm?"

Nancy kicked off the flats and slipped into the new strappy heels her mom selected. The harsh fluorescent lights gave her skin a cold, clammy appearance and emphasized the dark rings that were beginning to form under her eyes. She smiled at her mom. "These are great," she said brightly.

She looked longingly through the windowed storefront. When did shopping become such a chore? Avoiding her reflection, she dropped the shoes back into their box and pulled her sneakers on.

Outside the sun shone from a cloudless sky, adding a brilliant weightlessness to the afternoon. Shoppers dotted the sidewalk, wearing t-shirts with sweaters tied around their waists or draped over their shoulders, everyone eager for the coming summer months. Nancy closed her eyes for a moment and let the sun's warmth settle over her.

"Nancy?" came Steve's voice.

Opening her eyes, Nancy spotted him a few storefronts down the road. She caught her mom's eye and pointed to Steve. "Give me just a minute to say hi?" she asked, handing over the shopping bag.

"Excited for graduation?" Steve asked.

"Yeah," Nancy replied. "It'll be nice." Noticing Steve's concerned look, she realized her answer sounded forced. She pointed over her shoulder at her mom. "I'm actually out shopping for shoes to wear at the ceremony."

He didn't look convinced. "Cool," he said, nodding slowly. "You okay, Nance?" He looked like he was going to touch her cheek, then thought better of it and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "You look… tired."

"Uh, yeah," Nancy admitted. "Er, no, I'm not. I mean… I'm just nervous about graduation. I'm fine."

Steve shot her a disbelieving look. Behind him the storefront windows of a drugstore were plastered with ads and notices: help wanted, a sale on Coke-a-Cola, free kittens, missing person, Camel cigarettes. A wave of dull pain throbbed from the base of her skull forward. Nancy pinched the bridge of her nose and shut her eyes. Maybe she _was_ coming down with something.

She dropped her hand and smiled up at Steve, bright-eyed and agreeable. "It's just nerves, trust me," she assured him. "I'll see you at graduation."

* * *

The kiss. Was it a kiss? It was so quick, like a peck. A friendly… meeting of the lips?

"Ugh," Nancy moaned, dropping her head in her hands. She had to stop going over it again and again in her head. She was going crazy trying to define that moment with Jonathan. _Meeting of the lips?_ Who thinks that way?

She pulled nervously at the collar of her pajamas and began reciting the speech to prepare for graduation tomorrow. "We are more than a graduation class," she spoke softly the words she'd memorized weeks before. "We're the generation that will pave the way…" Nancy trailed off as her mom appeared in the doorway.

"Ready for tomorrow?" she asked brightly.

Nancy held her speech up. "Yeah, I think so," she replied. "All memorized."

"Then maybe it's time for bed?" her mom suggested. "You've been looking pretty tired lately. Rest up for tomorrow." She flicked off the overhead, so just Nancy's nightstand lamp glowed in the dark.

Nancy smiled resignedly. She nodded and her mom closed the door.

Alone with her thoughts, the kiss resurfaced. The way they'd held each other, how perfect it was, his warmth enveloping her and shielding her. Then she'd pulled away, but not completely. She hovered, inches from him. Why hadn't she just pulled completely away? Why did she have to kiss Jonathan?

Nancy buried her face in her hands again, blushing furiously for no one to see.

She turned off the lamp and her room plunged into darkness. As she closed her eyes, one thought emerged from the rest, _Why hadn't she kissed him longer?_


	8. Chapter 8

Jonathan

The middle of the night was as good a time as any. It wasn't as if he was going to get much sleep regardless.

As he approached the tree for the second time in as many days, Jonathan was struck by its size compared to the relatively miniature axe in his grip. He carefully rested the blade against the trunk of the tree and frowned. His vision had adjusted to the low light and it was now obvious he had seriously miscalculated. People used saws to cut down trees. Not axes.

He let the blade drop; the head of the axe hit the mossy soil silently.

In the distance a vague rustling gave way to the hoot of an owl. The forest's nightlife was hunting and foraging. Through bunches of leaves and spring growth, the sky was still visible and a shooting star crossed overhead.

Jonathan shrugged out of his flannel and picked up the axe. Sure, without a saw it would take longer. A lot longer. But the thought of Nancy's hand trembling against this tree steeled his resolve and, planting his feet firmly, he swung the axe as hard as he could. The resounding crack echoed through the forest, silencing the rustling creatures in the undergrowth.

Ten more strikes and he'd gotten used to the sound. Fifteen more and his skin glistened with sweat, his hair bunched into wet strips against his neck and forehead. Twenty more and his arms were numb from the shock of each strike.

Jonathan dropped the axe and knelt to rest and admire his progress. His heart dropped when he saw how small the wedge was, not even a quarter of the way through the trunk. His hands were throbbing and the wetness he felt in his palms meant blisters had formed and burst in a matter of minutes. The swollen curve of his thumb brushed over a flap of skin at the base of his middle finger – a ruptured blister. He held his palm upright, squinting in the darkness, examining the damage. Moisture from the forest floor was gradually soaking the knees of his jeans.

A deafening crack pierced the night, echoing forever.

Jonathan froze. It sounded like his axe striking the tree. But the axe was still resting on the ground.

Another crack pealed through the darkness. Then clusters of creaking and snapping poured from the fresh wedge Jonathan's axe had cut from the tree.

The trunk bulged, chips of bark shooting past Jonathan's face. He couldn't move. He was rooted to the ground, knees wet and sinking into the soil. As he stared, disbelieving, the trunk split, torn like a curtain by a pair of colorless hands.

A chillingly familiar sound emanated from the tear – a nickering, like a horse, followed by the slow, deliberate panting of a predator. His pupils dilated, his heart stopped and from the gateway, Jonathan saw the faceless monster emerge again.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: This chapter is NSFW and, as such, I've updated the rating of this story from T to M. I think it may be a bit too risque to continue being considered T.

* * *

Nancy

The pale face of the clock was just light enough for her to read in the near pitch black of her room – 3 a.m. Nancy rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and yawned. What had woken her? Then, almost in response, a faint tapping drummed against her window. She could see the outline of someone crouched on the roof, but had to cross the room before she recognized Jonathan.

"It's the middle of the night," she protested, opening the window nonetheless.

As he ducked his head in and met her gaze, Nancy felt her heart flutter and the heat rise in her cheeks. She quashed the memories of their kiss with a quick shake of her head and stared back at Jonathan expectantly. Despite herself, she felt flustered under his searching eyes.

"I couldn't sleep," he said, by way of explanation. He still hadn't entered her room, even though Nancy had given him enough space. He cast his eyes across the room, brow furrowed thoughtfully beneath disheveled hair that looked almost black in the shadows. Then he dropped his gaze and withdrew from the window. "I'm sorry," he continued. "I don't know what I was thinking."

As he turned, Nancy called out softly, "Jonathan." He turned back to her and she was reminded of her intrusion on him at the cemetery. "Come in. I could use someone to talk to." When he didn't move, she added, "Please."

Nancy didn't bother turning on the light. She sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, facing Jonathan as he awkwardly settled across from her. He was wearing a chalky grey ringer tee and jeans worn soft at the knees, so the denim was silent as he shifted his legs. Nancy hushed the voice in the back of her mind telling her that she was too comfortable with the situation.

"This is going to sound crazy," she whispered. "But I think we need to get into that government lab."

A dim halo of light from the streetlamps outlined Jonathan's silhouette. He was silent for a second. Or an eternity. Nancy couldn't tell the difference. She felt slow and clumsy at such a late hour. Or was it an early hour? Everything felt blurry and underexposed. She smiled to herself at the metaphor, given her present company. "You want to look for the gateway?" Jonathan finally asked.

Nancy nodded; then, realizing how dark it was, affirmed, "Yes. I know it's crazy." She thought she saw Jonathan shaking his head and continued, "Eleven confirmed it, Jonathan. That's the main gateway."

"That's how Mom and Hopper got in when they rescued Will," he added.

"Yes," Nancy continued, leaning forward. "We want to make sure this is over, right?" Her hand sought out his and she curled her fingers into his palm. "If the gateway is gone, then that's it. That's the proof. It's over." She said firmly. "But if it's not…"

Jonathan gave her fingers a soft squeeze and pulled her closer. "You're talking about breaking into a government building, Nancy." He cocked his head to the side and behind the darkness, she was sure he was mocking her.

She tugged her hand free and replied, "I know it sounds crazy."

"It's perfect," Jonathan cut in.

Silence fell again, but this time Nancy heard the distinct ticking of her bedside clock. The idea formed out of nowhere and it was crazy. It _was_. But they could do it. "Everyone looks at me like I'm losing my mind," she admitted. "You're the only one who doesn't think I'm insane."

Her hand was in his again and he whispered, "You're not insane."

She leaned forward, but it was Jonathan who kissed her this time. And he didn't pull away. At first his lips brushed hers, testing the waters, she thought, before he kissed deeper. Nancy untangled her hand from his and cupped the back of his neck, weaving her fingers through his hair and drawing him into her. He slid one hand into the small of her back and held her against him as they descended into the soft divot of her mattress.

Nancy wrapped her arm around Jonathan, drawing her fingers up the arch of his spine, encouraging him, and, in response, his kisses came faster and harder, an urgency in his movement. She opened her mouth, nipping at his bottom lip and drawing her tongue across the bites. His breathing came in shallow pants and a free hand had slipped beneath her pajama top, his fingers dancing curlicues against her skin, grazing her ribs to the bottom of her breast. The hair on her arms stood on end as a current raced up her spine.

Jonathan broke free, trailing kisses along her jaw, then tracing the slender curve of her neck. Nancy gasped and clenched her fingers in his hair.

Like an afterthought, she heard the persistent ticking of her bedside clock. _Tick tick tick_.

She shut her eyes and lifted her chin, giving Jonathan free roam of her neck. He fell to her collarbones, plucking at the tender skin with playful bites.

The ticking was distracting. It echoed like a hollow cry. It filled the room. But Jonathan didn't seem to notice. His hand cupped her breast, thumb circling her nipple, sending little pulses of pleasure to her core.

It wasn't just ticking anymore. It was a knocking, deep and reverberating. "Jonathan," Nancy whispered, her eyes still closed. Taking her utterance as a moan of pleasure, Jonathan began unbuttoning her top. She felt a slow pressure as his hips pressed into hers. Despite the knocking, Nancy felt the thrill of desire.

Then a deafening crack shook the room and Nancy finally opened her eyes to see three feet of drywall ripped from her ceiling above them. Insulation hung from the hole like pink gossamer and driving itself through the support beams was the faceless monster.

She opened her mouth to scream, but it had wrapped its sinewy arms around Jonathan before she had a chance, and peeled him off of Nancy, vanishing back into the hole of her ceiling. The last thing she saw, clear as day, even in the blackness of her room, was the sheer terror in Jonathan's eyes as he disappeared, clutched in the monster's arms.

In the silent aftermath, Nancy found her voice and the panic of her own shriek woke her from a fitful sleep.

She bolted upright in bed, both hands clasped over her mouth, gasping and frantically searching her bedroom for a sign of the Demogorgon. The ceiling was whole. Her window was closed. No one was in the room except for her. Slowly she dropped her hands, her breathing gradually evening out. She ran her fingers down the front of her pajamas. Nothing unbuttoned.

A dream. A nightmare. A crazy person's nightmare.

Nancy stared into the darkness moodily. "Shit!" she finally muttered, dropping her head into her hands in defeat.

Outside, the streetlamp flickered.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for the faves, follows and feedback! This scene was inspired by the beginning of episode three - Nancy and Steve's romance spliced with Barb's doom.


	10. Chapter 10

Mike

"Come in, Will. Come in. Over." Mike stared at the walkie-talkie in his hand. Another minute of silence passed before he tried again.

Nothing.

Dustin and Lucas hovered nearby, all eyes glued on the comm.

Still nothing.

Lucas let out an exasperated sigh and grabbed the walkie-talkie from Mike's hands. "Will, pick up." The boys were silent. "C'mon, Will, we're waiting on you. Over."

Mike crossed his arms and leaned into the couch cushions. It was almost noon. Will should've been there twenty minutes ago. They were finishing yesterday's record-breaking campaign – something Will couldn't shut up about over the Walkie-Talkies last night. But now he was a no-show.

"He's not answering," Lucas huffed, tossing the comm onto the couch next to Mike.

"Yeah, no duh," Mike shot back. "We've been trying for ten minutes."

Lucas rolled his eyes. "So now what? We can't play without Will."

Dustin stood up and asked, "Have you tried calling him? Like, actually calling him on the phone?"

Mike paused for a second, staring blankly at Dustin, before jumping to his feet and racing upstairs. From the basement he could hear Dustin laughing and Lucas' sarcastic, " _Seriously_?"

As he rounded the corner to the kitchen, Mike heard his mom's abrupt yelp. His socked feet skidded along the linoleum in front of the island, where his mom was swatting the cupboards with a dish towel. "That's the fifteenth carpenter ant in twenty-four hours, Ted," she yelled to the living room. "Call the exterminator. You said you'd take care of it!"

"I'll take care of it, Karen," came the exasperated reply.

On the twentieth ring, Mike hung up the phone.

His mom was still muttering to herself when he passed. Before he turned the corner, she stopped him. "How long are Dustin and Lucas staying?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I don't know, Mom," he said. "A while. We're waiting for Will to get here and then we have to finish yesterday's campaign."

She _tsk_ ed and propped her hands on her hips – that no-nonsense posture – this couldn't be good. "I don't think so," she replied firmly. "Your sister's graduation is at two."

"I'm not going to _that_!" Mike shot back. Was she serious?

"Excuse me, but, yes, you are. End of story," she said.

Nancy appeared at the other end of the kitchen. "Mom," she said lightly. Karen turned and her expression softened. "Mom, he doesn't have to go." She gave Mike a friendly look and a quick nod. "Seriously, this is going to be, like, _excruciatingly_ boring for him. It's not that big of a deal."

"Mike, you're going to miss Nancy's speech." It was his mom's last effort to get him to the ceremony. But Nancy had a point. He would be bored out of his mind.

"I've already heard it like twenty times," he replied. "She's been practicing it for a month."

Nancy rolled her eyes.

Karen frowned and finally acquiesced. "Okay. Stay home."

Downstairs Lucas and Dustin were debating space travel.

"Why would the Enterprise even have a light speed option if it can travel at warp speed?" Lucas asked, heatedly.

Dustin sighed impatiently. "I'm not saying the Enterprise has a light speed _gear_. I'm just saying, it can't warp without reaching light speed. So it _has_ to travel at light speed _sometimes_."

They clammed up and looked at Mike expectantly as he descended the stairs. "No answer," Mike reported.

Over an hour later, Mike knocked on Nancy's bedroom door. She was wearing a white, long-sleeved dress shirt and beige skirt. Her hair was pulled into a twist, hidden pins holding it in place. "What's up?" she asked.

"Thanks for letting me off the hook," Mike said.

Their relationship had relaxed and become more friendly since they'd worked together last winter. They weren't exactly best friends, but they weren't at each other's necks all of the time either. And the small gestures, like Nancy excusing Mike from the graduation ceremony, were more frequent.

She shrugged. "No biggie. Is that all?"

"No, actually," Mike continued. "Jonathan's graduating, right? So he'll be there?"

Nancy looked away and scratched her forehead absentmindedly. "Yeah, I- I imagine. Why?"

"Just, if you think of it, can you ask him to tell Will that we're going to be at the junkyard if he wants to meet us there?" Mike asked. Nancy nodded and Mike added hastily, "Unless Will is at the ceremony, too. Then can you just tell him?"

Nancy gave him an annoyed look. "Yeah, obviously, Mike."

It was then that he noticed the little tremor in her hand as it brushed stray hairs behind her ear. And the puffiness beneath her eyes. Sleeplessness? Or was she crying? "Are you okay?" he asked squeamishly. However their relationship had strengthened, it still felt weird empathizing instead of criticizing. "You look like hell," he added. Well, at least that made him feel a little more comfortable.

Nancy snorted. "Go to the junkyard, dweeb," she said, shutting the door in his face.


	11. Chapter 11

Nancy

The audience was picked through. Every fourth or fifth seat in the bleachers was empty. Family members missing. Even students. Rows of foldable metal chairs crowded around the podium and the empty ones left a sour feeling in her stomach. Nancy began counting, but lost track as students and friends filtered through the rows, looking for other classmates, checking the seating order. Parents ducked in and out, snapping photos of their graduates in caps and gowns.

A flash sent starbursts across her vision. "Nancy!" her mom called, waving from their front seat. Holly fidgeted uncomfortably on the wooden bench. "Nancy!" her mom called again, holding the camera up. Nancy tried to smile, bearing her teeth in a forced grimace. The ensuing clicks and flashes turned her attention back to the cold, empty chairs facing the stage.

No Jonathan.

Images from her nightmare resurfaced, unbidden, like stills from a stop motion film. The kiss. His touch. His body wrenched from her embrace. The chilling power of the monster, as it plucked Jonathan away, like a dust mote in the air, and her utter helplessness. His terrified scream. No. It was her scream. The only thing she was capable of was that scream. And gasping.

"Nancy, what's wrong?" Her mom was standing over her, holding her shoulder.

Nancy was doubled over, hyperventilating. Her heart was drumming painfully against her ribs. "Nancy?" She leaned back in her seat, concentrating on slow, even breathing. "Are you nervous?" her mom asked.

Nancy shut her eyes, took one deep breath, looked up at her mom and forced a calm response: "Nerves." She laughed uncomfortably. "I'm going to go to the ladies room. Be right back."

Her mom adopted an it's-for-the-best look and returned to her husband and Holly.

Taped to the side of the pay phone in the school courtyard was a Xeroxed photo of a student holding a saxophone. Nancy punched in the numbers and cradled the phone with both hands, taking deep, steady breaths with each ring.

 _Thirteen… Fourteen… Fifteen…_

"Nancy!" a voice called out.

She looked up, letting the speaker slide an inch below her ear. The principal was holding the door open, one foot on the threshold, giving her an impatient look. "We need to get started, Nancy."

Shooting a cheery smile to the principal, Nancy dropped the handset onto the receiver and slid her fingers across the mouthpiece, wicking away the beads of moisture left from her breath. No one was answering at Jonathan's house anyway.

As she rounded the phone booth, she spotted the Xerox again. Above the student's photo, in blocky letters: **Have You Seen Me?**

* * *

Nancy considered the doorbell, then knocked loudly. A breeze caught the trees in the yard, shifting their leaves so the shadows against the house rotated in ghostly patterns. Nancy tucked her cardigan over her arm. The temperature was supposed to drop tonight, so her mom insisted she bring it. She knocked again and the door swung wide open.

"Congratulations, graduate!" Steve said with a big, hokey grin.

Nancy gave him a hug. "Congratulations," she replied.

"The party's out back," Steve said, gesturing behind him. "Burgers, cake, drinks and, of course, the heated pool. I hope you remembered your bikini this time." Nancy sighed and gave him a sarcastic grin. Harmless though the comment was meant to be, it just reminded her of Barb. And Jonathan. Steve continued, oblivious to Nancy's cool response, "I really liked your speech, Miss Valedictorian. It was very befitting a Yale student."

Nancy laughed at his ridiculousness. "I didn't get into Yale, Steve."

"No?" he asked, feigning utter shock. "Harvard? Duke?" He opened the back door to a patio crowded with friends and family. Spreading his arms in mock unveiling, he said, "Help yourself to food or drinks. I think some people are putting together a volleyball game in the corner. And you can always take a dip in the pool."

Nancy felt overwhelmed by the crowd. "Yeah, thanks. Um, hey, Steve?" She wanted to ask him before he wandered off. "Did you notice how many students were missing from the ceremony?"

But he was being called away by a graying man holding a graduation gift.

A knot of girls she recognized from English class were chatting close to the food table. One broke away and noticed Nancy, waved politely, then remerged with her cohort. Nancy took a couple shuffling steps in their direction, then thought better of it and veered for an open chair at a cute, round table along the edge of the yard. A few women seated nearby were catching up, animatedly recounting stories about their kids or coworkers. Nancy thought they might be Steve's aunts. She scooted her chair a few inches back so she'd be hidden behind their group.

Of course she should be happy and celebrating the occasion. Graduation! Finally! But the relief and joy her peers were reaping was deflating inside of her, making room for a crushing dread that she couldn't quite place. She scanned the tree line along the border of Steve's yard. The last time one of her friends went missing…


	12. Chapter 12

Dustin

"So today was pretty much a huge waste of time," Dustin complained.

He and Lucas were coasting along a sloping dirt hill that led away from the scrapyard. They hit the bottom, mounting the curb simultaneously and veered onto the pavement, heading home before light fell. Behind them, Mike was pedaling in the opposite direction, disappearing into a maze of subdivisions and cookie-cutter houses.

"No it wasn't," Lucas replied, ever combative. "We had fun, didn't we?"

Dustin brought his bike to a halt. He straddled the crossbar, planting his feet wide and stared at Lucas incredulously. "We didn't get to finish the campaign!" he yelled. "That was the whole point of today!"

Lucas had stopped his bike a few feet ahead, parking it sideways so he could face Dustin's animated outrage. "Yeah, so what? We can finish it tomorrow," he explained. "I'm just saying, today wasn't that bad."

Dustin shook his head dismissively. He dropped his foot on the bike's pedal and, before taking off, asked, "What about Will?"

"I don't know," Lucas said. He shrugged, then pushed off, biking ahead. "Maybe you should stop by his house."

Dustin scoffed at the suggestion, pedaling to catch up. "Why me? Why not you?"

"Duh! Because I live that way!" Lucas replied, stretching his arm to point out the intersection ahead. "You live closest to Will."

At the intersection Dustin turned left and began the arduous uphill that he dreaded every ride home. "I'll call him when I get in!" he yelled back to Lucas over his shoulder.

Lucas waved, riding away.

Those last ten yards were murder and Dustin was too exhausted for the final push. He dismounted and walked his bike to the top. The climb was rough, true, but the view never ceased to be breathtaking. It was later in the day and the sun was inching closer to the horizon, but Dustin could still make out fine details in the town below. The stretch of brick storefronts and potted flowers out front, like vibrant puddles set against the slate gray of concrete. The towering library and church steeple. The police department.

As he watched, a cruiser pulled out and the lights flicked on, sending red and blue spotlights spinning across the buildings. He expected to hear the siren, delayed over the distance it traveled to reach him, but piercing nonetheless. It didn't come. The cruiser didn't peel out, like there was an emergency. On the contrary; it slowly began crawling up the main stretch. Behind him, Dustin heard a vehicle climbing the hill and immediately after he registered this, a second sound finally reached him from below. It was a voice, amplified through a loud speaker. The words were jumbled, echoing through the town and bouncing off of the buildings. But Dustin understood most of it: _… order of the police department, all residents … evacuate Hawkins … toxic radiation leak has been confirmed. Failure to evacuate immediately … dangerous exposure._

Dustin's mouth was hanging open when the roar of the truck idling next to him stopped. "Hey, kid!" a voice yelled, puncturing Dustin's focus.

Reluctantly pulling himself from the fresh drama below, Dustin was faced with the broad side of a taupe and beige Blazer, and the anxious face of the police chief hanging out the window. "Dustin, right?" he asked. Dustin nodded, mouth still slack. "Get in, now." Chief Hopper ordered. His expression commanded immediate obedience.

Swinging his handlebars around, Dustin called over the passenger seat, "O-Okay, just help me get my bike in the back –"

"Leave the bike, kid!" the chief yelled impatiently. "Get in the truck, _now_!"

As he climbed in, the voice echoed from below: _Directions for refuge … provided at highway stops outside of the city limits…all residents are to evacuate…_

Dustin didn't bother buckling his seatbelt. "This is bullshit," he said. "There's no radiation leak. What's going on? Are we at war?"

Hopper turned the ignition. The truck roared back to life and he turned to his young passenger. "Where do you live?" he asked. Dustin scrunched his eyebrows, bewildered. He didn't need a ride. He was almost home. Still, the chief was not a man whose limits he wanted to test. Dustin pointed ahead. He expected the truck to lurch forward, but Hopper was still leaning his forearm into the steering wheel, watching Dustin. "Where is your friend Lucas?"

That piece in the puzzle solved it for Dustin. His shoulders drooped as he spoke. "It's the Demogorgon, isn't it?"


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: First, I want to thank everyone again for the follows, faves and feedback! I also want to apologize as this is the longest chapter yet. But it does pack a lot into the story so far and makes a big mark in the plot. So I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Nancy

Her watch read five-thirty. She tried to gauge how soon she could leave without drawing too much attention, but Nancy's voice of reason chided these thoughts. It was bad enough that she wasn't socializing, tucked in the corner like she was, still hiding behind Steve's giggly aunts. But every time she tried to motivate herself to get up and join one of the clusters of graduates milling around the celebration, her legs felt weak.

To distract herself, she snatched the photo album that was propped on the table in front of her and began flipping through. Steve throughout the years. Little league baseball; Christmases and Easters; summers in a vacation home that was somehow nicer than their house in Hawkins; fishing and ice skating; a BMW for a birthday present. Nancy let out a little exhausted chuckle under her breath and dropped the album back on the table.

A squeal of delight rang out as a young girl bounced clumsily into the pool, held afloat by an inflated orange ring. Following the sound, Nancy's eyes locked onto the diving board and a wave of shame overcame her as she remembered Barb, sitting on the edge of the board while she and Steve…

Nancy frowned at the white tablecloth and the memory of that night. How she'd told Barb to go home. But ditching her best friend wasn't in Barb's nature. So she'd stayed. And the only person who knew Barb didn't leave was Jonathan.

Nancy lifted her head and scanned the tree line where he'd stood that evening, silently documenting the whole regrettable night. The same forest edge where she'd first seen the monster. And so close to the tree where she'd entered the Upside Down. The tree where she'd kissed Jonathan.

Nancy stood up abruptly. All around, people were laughing; family members were reliving memories of Steve and classmates were planning summer vacation and college. She grabbed her bag and cardigan. It was a mistake coming to the party.

As nonchalantly as possible, she began edging closer to the woods. But her discretion was wasted. No one was paying attention to the girl slipping into the underbrush. Music was playing, drinks were clinking, the grill was sizzling, water was splashing. From somewhere inside, the phone was ringing. And as she disappeared, a voice, clearer than any other, spoke from the edge of the pool, "Hey, Steve, you're not going to believe what's going on in town…"

The rest of the conversation was swallowed by the din of the party and fading into the background as Nancy vanished into the forest.

* * *

A bed of last year's fallen leaves muffled her steps as Nancy picked her way through the woods, stepping over rotten logs and trying to discern any familiar landmarks amidst an eternity of identical trees. High up in the canopy, a gust of wind yanked the lighter branches, sending a moaning creak through the trunks below. When the breeze settled, a ghostly whistle hung in the air, like a distant siren. Nancy ignored it and forged on, determined to find the tree before nightfall.

It was nearing six-thirty when she finally crossed a peculiar cluster of paper birch trees, thin sheets of white bark peeling away in delicate layers. She recognized the spot and the crumbled boulder nearby, except she'd come from a different direction last time. Looking up, Nancy turned ninety degrees and reoriented herself. She scanned the woods in front of her and fell upon the gateway tree, twenty yards ahead and something – she squinted her eyes – something was lying at the base of the tree.

Nancy bolted forward. "Jonathan?" she yelled. The mass at the tree's roots didn't move. As she ran, the air stilled and the forest noises hushed. "Jonathan!" she screamed again. Each step she took, a surreal silence enveloped her deeper. Fifteen feet away, she slowed to a walk and the mass took shape. It was a red and black checkered flannel jacket and lying next to it was an axe. She drew closer, taking careful steps. Her eyes alighted on the wedge hacked out of the trunk and she reached forward, brushing her fingers along the splintered wood.

She let her hand fall and stared at the cut, gradually realizing what Jonathan had done. Below, the axe lay forgotten. No, not what he'd done – what he'd _tried_ to do. So what had happened? She crouched and gathered the flannel in her arms. The fabric was cold and leaves clung to the underside. She traced her fingers along the shaft of the axe and noticed two identical imprints in the forest floor near the blade. The indents were side by side, a few inches wide and rounded. Footprints? No, there would be a pattern from the tread on his boots. Handprints? No, that wasn't right either. She dropped her knees into a mound of leaves and hugged the flannel against her chest. Her eyes fell to her own lap and the answer dawned on her. The prints were left by his knees. Jonathan had knelt here.

He'd been in this exact spot. Then he disappeared, leaving behind his coat and axe. Nancy squeezed her eyes shut, deep furrows building between her pinched eyebrows. _What happened?_

In the moments following that question, finally she noticed the uncanny silence of the woods that surrounded her. The wind had vanished; the birds were gone. The humming of life came to an abrupt stop. An early darkness was falling and bringing with it a deep, biting cold. Nancy's skin prickled. The blood drained from her face and a slow exhale rattled from her lips.

Knees still cradled by the earth, Nancy carefully lifted her head, scanning the forest for any sign of movement. The world was motionless, cast into a blue darkness by the trees' shadows and clouded horizon. Her heart was crashing in her chest, each beat like a deafening wave crushing the silence. A surge of panic threatened to overwhelm her and as she deliberately rocked back on her feet, standing upright, she saw in the distance, with a thrill of terror, a dark, lanky figure unfolding from the forest floor, like a sinister mirrored image of herself.

Nancy froze, her breath caught in her chest, as she heard a distinct, rhythmic clicking. The shadowy figure stood erect and still, facing her. Nancy prayed it hadn't seen her. She held her breath, motionless, eyes wide and stinging, willing the monster to turn away. The clicking stopped. The silhouette shuddered and, like a grotesque flower, its head unfurled to expose five, muscular fanged jaws.

A hawk-like shriek shattered the earth and Nancy spun around, launching herself forward. She thrust her bag and cardigan to the ground, pumping her fists through the air, willing her legs to move faster as she drove blindly into the forest. A second deafening screech split the air behind her, followed by the crushing footfalls of her pursuer.

Trees flashed past, thorns tore at her socks and exposed roots were a death sentence. Nancy flew. The pain in her legs pumped through her veins and was agony to breathe, but she flew. Her gasps were feeble shrieks of terror, clouding her mind to anything but the next step that launched her forward. She tore through fine nets of pine branches that left needles in her hair and cuts on her face and neck until pinpricks of blood mixed with the sweat that trickled to the collar of her shirt. She drove into the wind, icy cold against her skin, and tears forked across her cheekbones into her hairline and under her jaw as the footfalls came faster and stronger from behind.

Planting her foot on the mossy ridge of a fallen tree, Nancy leapt through the air and turned, mid-jump to see the Demogorgon's sinewy body arcing after her, its long fingers, curled into hooks, ripping fiercely at the air, feet from her face.

She turned forward as her feet hit the ground, lunging ahead even knowing she'd already lost. But before she'd taken two steps, a form appeared ahead, materializing out of thin air, hurtling toward her. A voice was yelling and the figure was motioning frantically as the gap between them closed. Nancy kept rushing forward, unable to make sense of anything, when the monster struck out and a flash of pain streaked across her back.

In a sudden moment of clarity, Jonathan's voice rang out, "Get down!" and Nancy obediently dropped, exhaustion and pain toppling her to the ground. Jonathan's nail-studded bat narrowly missed her shoulder, but landed squarely in the creature's torso with a sickening crunch.

Nancy scrambled forward, kicking her feet out and gasping as she crawled away from the monster. Her left hand shuffled through brittle leaves and twigs while her right was a fist, wrapped around something soft. Above her, Jonathan stood, squaring his feet and drawing back to land a second blow, sending the creature reeling as his bat made contact with one of the five fanged jaws. "Run!" he yelled hoarsely, not taking his eyes off of his target.

Nancy didn't move. Her breath came in rapid pants and she couldn't force herself to comprehend Jonathan's sudden appearance. But there he was, standing guard over her, steeling himself again for the creature's assault. He turned and looked down at her, dark eyes narrowing as he cried, "Run, Nancy!" His voice broke when he said her name. And it was that tiny detail that brought Nancy back to reality. She rose to her feet, ready to take off again, when she noticed what was clutched in her right hand. She was still holding his flannel jacket.

"I'm not leaving you," she replied. There were no weapons for her, no way she could help, but she wouldn't abandon him.

The Demogorgon was returning. It lifted its head and issued a deep, rattling growl. Jonathan tightened his grip on the bat and repeated urgently, "Run. I'll be right behind you." He didn't take his eyes off of the creature as it slowly stalked toward them. "Get to my car. I'll meet you there." His voice was even, but when the monster crouched, coiling itself for an attack, he shouted, " _Run_!"

And Nancy ran.

She ran until her entire body screamed and her breath came in weak cries. She pushed forward in agony until the trees cleared, the soft light of a low-hanging sun filtered through and, as promised, Jonathan's old Ford sedan waited by the side of the road. Loose gravel slid down the berm as Nancy scrabbled up to the shoulder and collapsed on the hood of the car.

For almost a minute, she lay against the metal, inert, but for her heaving chest, which slowly subdued in the ubiquitous calm of the roadside. Beneath her, the Ford's engine ticked and hissed, radiating heat from a long drive. The warmth soaked into Nancy's skin; her trembling diminished and her eyes fluttered open. Pressed into the gap between the windshield and hood was her fist, still wrapped stubbornly around Jonathan's coat.

She pushed herself off of the hood and cringed at the sharp bolt of pain that traveled down her back. Gingerly, her left fingers brushed along the exposed flesh from shoulder blade to hip, where the creature had slashed at her. The cut wasn't deep, but her fingertips were left bloody. An echoing crack in the woods made her forget the pain for a moment and her thoughts returned to Jonathan.

Her feet easily slid down the bank to the edge of the woods. She peered in, willing Jonathan to appear again, out of thin air. But there was no movement. "Jonathan!" she screamed. She cupped her hand to her mouth and cried out again louder. Nothing. Her first few steps were hesitant, but then she was jogging back to the danger.

The car was still in view when he appeared, racing toward her. "Go, go, go!" he yelled, waving his hand, ushering her back.

"Where is it?" she asked, spinning to match his pace as he caught up with her. "What happened?"

Still running, he replied between broken gasps, "Don't know… I hit it. Broke my—" He stopped talking to catch his breath as they cleared the forest. Nancy saw him look down at his hand which held the splintered handle of his bat. As if just noticing the broken weapon, he dropped it on the ground and motioned for her to get in the car.

Before the door shut, an emergency siren began wailing nearby. Nancy had never heard anything like it in Hawkins before, but something about it made her think of the term _air raid_.


	14. Chapter 14

Steve

The duffle bag was already practically full, but he managed to squeeze in another pair of jeans before zipping it shut. Outside, sirens were still wailing and an abrupt squeal announced his graduation party's last guest was tearing out of the _cul de sac_. Plastic cups rolled across the lawn in the breeze and half-eaten meals littered the tables as a testament to the sudden desertion. In another room, Steve's mom was gathering toiletries into a pink overnight bag. In an adjacent town, his dad was at the office, too busy to even attend his son's graduation.

The kitchen radio, volume cranked to reach the entire house, looped through the evacuation terms again: _All residents of Hawkins, Indiana are to evacuate the city limits by midnight. A radiation leak in the area has been confirmed and contamination crews are assessing the situation. Residents are reminded to stay calm and obey traffic laws while exiting the city…_

The rest of the broadcast was drowned out by a low-flying helicopter sweeping overhead. Steve propped himself against the window frame, watching paper plates float in the pool below. The helicopter passed and the broadcast's static message filled the house again, advising which highways were choked with traffic. It ended with a hollow voice reminding residents to be on the lookout for a growing number of missing people.

The phone started ringing and Steve heard his mother rush downstairs. "Oh, that could be your dad," she called out. The voice on the radio was offering a register of each missing person's description: _…Joseph Thompson, brown eyes, brown hair, last seen wearing –_

The radio clicked off and Mrs. Harrington picked up the phone. "Hello?" A pause. "Oh, hi Karen, I'm kind of in the middle of –huh? No, everyone left as soon as –" Another pause. "Yes, she was, but I assumed she went home. Hang on… Steve!"

He picked up the phone on his dresser and called downstairs, "I've got it, hang up!"

The click of the receiver echoed through his handset. From the hallway he heard the front door open and the rustle of bags being shoved outside.

"Mrs. Wheeler?"

"Steve, is Nancy still there?"

"What? No… No she left a while ago."

"When? How long ago?"

Steve pressed his fingers into his temple and massaged little circles, trying to remember details from the chaos that erupted an hour before, when the news first hit. Some guests immediately fled, speeding home to gather their families. Some waited to use the phone, pinning down the locations of loved ones to collect them and evacuate. But try as he might, he couldn't bring to mind Nancy in that flood of panic. "I'm really not sure, Mrs. Wheeler. I'm sorry," he reported.

He heard her voice distantly state, "She's not there, Ted." Then a click and the dial tone.

Steve hung up and frowned. A car door shut in the driveway. For a moment he thought his dad had shown up, but the scraping sound of a suitcase being dragged across the entryway reminded him that his mom was just packing the back seat. He pressed his hand against the window; the glass was cold against his palm and made a brittle _clink_ beneath his class ring. Staring at the tree line, he furrowed his eyebrows and chewed his lip. Why couldn't he remember when Nancy left? For that matter, why couldn't he even recall her leaving at all? The whole party was just a kaleidoscope of faces and nostalgic stories before everything exploded into a flurry of panic. He couldn't even pinpoint a single memory of Nancy at the party.

He'd been staring, unfocused, at the same patch of grass for a full two minutes before a flicker of movement in the trees brought him back to attention. A person was shuffling around in the forest, just inside the shadows. Steve placed his other hand against the window and pressed his face to the glass, squinting through the trees. The person paused, turned for an instant into the daylight and Steve's stomach dropped.

"Mom," he called out. He didn't move. Hands still glued to the window, eyes wide and disbelieving. _It couldn't be. It couldn't be…_

"Steve?" his mom's voice rang from downstairs.

The figure turned into the daylight again, taking a step out of the woods and confirmed Steve's terrifying suspicion. The creature – the one that climbed out of Jonathan Byer's ceiling, that melted in a fire in front of his eyes last winter – it was standing in his backyard. Steve's heart lurched. He opened his mouth to scream a warning to his mom, but his voice was caught in his throat and he was frozen to the window.

The Demogorgon turned back to the woods and Steve saw, lodged in its spine, just below the creature's bulbous head was the top of a baseball bat. Spikes driven into the bat had lodged into the monster's ashy flesh. As it crept back into the shadows, undisturbed by the injury, Steve wrenched himself from the window and screamed down to his mom, each word loaded with urgency, "Mom, get in the car! _Go now!_ " He'd scooped up the duffle bag and was tearing down the stairs, three at a time.

"Steve—" she began, standing in the doorway.

Grabbing her by the shoulders, he forced her out the door. "Go!" he yelled again. "Start the car. I'll be right out."

"But your dad—"

"Fuck Dad!" he roared over her protest. "This is serious!"

By the time he reached the last step in the basement, he heard the BMW's engine come to life. His hands were shaking, but still he managed to fit the key in and jiggle it just right so the lock popped and, with a rusty sigh, the metal cupboard opened. On the bottom shelf were thirteen boxes of ammunition. On the top—his dad's Beretta. Steve blindly grabbed handfuls of clothes from the duffle bag, dropping them to the floor, and with two quick movements, swept the contents of the cupboard into the bag. Before flying back upstairs, he added a can of lighter fluid and a hunting knife to the pile and zipped the bag shut.


	15. Chapter 15

Joyce

"You okay carrying that by yourself?" she asked Will.

"Yeah, definitely," her son replied. He straightened his back against the weight of the backpack in a show of strength. His mousy face peaked up, flashing a reassuring grin and he hooked his thumbs under the shoulder straps.

Joyce smiled in return, lugging her own pack with a second looped around her arm, making her gate lopsided and clumsy as they picked their way along the dirt trail. The forest was a serene escape – golden light rained down on them from the waning sun above; birds and crickets chirped merrily, reminding her of a Disney movie and the fresh air cleared her mind, which was quickly becoming a tattered mess. Despite it all, she was still biting back a knot of fear and worry that threatened to consume her.

* * *

Early that morning, before the sun had risen – before the sky had even begun to brighten in the pre-dawn – Jonathan appeared in her bedroom doorway, shouting incoherently. Joyce's first response was unfocused panic – something that was to be expected given the events months before. But she was slow and groggy in the dark hush of early morning and Jonathan's words were nonsense in her mind. By the time she'd sat up, kicked her feet over the edge of the bed and shoved the tangle of blankets off, he'd darted to Will's room. She blinked rapidly, willing her eyes to adjust to the dark and asked blearily, "What? Jonathan?"

Her fingers found the lamp switch finally and across the hall she heard Jonathan urgently saying, "Will, get up. Come on, _get up_. We have to go." The faint protests of her younger son were muffled by Jonathan's heavy footsteps and the scrape of a drawer opening. "Here, pack some clothes, okay?" Jonathan asked, softer now.

"Jonathan," Joyce called, shimmying into a pair of corduroys. "What is going on?" She bumped into him in the hallway and instinctively reached out to brace his shoulders, squaring him in front of her. The bedroom lamp was behind the door, but a sliver of light escaped through the gap along the doorjamb and in its dim wash she saw the fear in her son's eyes and felt the tremble in his shallow breaths. She squeezed his shoulders, her eyes darting back and forth, seeking out his in the shadows. " _Tell me_ ," she demanded. His fear shook her to her core and she prayed he couldn't hear her heart racing.

His lips moved silently, like he was working through his next words before actually speaking. With a deep exhale, his muscles tensed and he said simply, "We have to go. We have to leave now."

"Jonathan?" Will asked. Joyce turned and peeked down the hall where her younger son was leaning nervously against the wood veneer wall panels. "Where are we going?" he asked sleepily.

Jonathan looked at his brother painfully then turned back to Joyce and, barely moving his lips, whispered, " _It's back_."

* * *

"You know, I think this is wide enough that I could've driven the car all the way up," Joyce said cheerfully. She shot Will an exhausted look, and laughed, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, it's pretty big," Will replied, kicking a rock off to the side of the path. It struck a cluster of acorns, bouncing them into a patch of leaves.

Joyce continued, "I mean, it's no two-lane highway, but Mom's little car could—Oh! Here we are!" The path took a sharp turn and opened up to a well-maintained clearing. A large, rolling stretch of mown grass was neatly enclosed by a wall of trees. In the center, a perfect pond with lily pads was surrounded by ten small cabins and a large pavilion.

Joyce dropped her bags. Next to her, Will did the same. "It's nicer than I remember," she said.

* * *

Jonathan had been vague – cryptic even. He obviously didn't want to upset Joyce or, more importantly, Will, who'd had to live through hell once before. So he wasn't issuing more than a few words here and there. From what Joyce could gather, Jonathan had been in the woods ( _God knew why_ ) and had seen the monster.

"Are you sure? Maybe it was just someone walking around?" Joyce asked desperately.

"No," Jonathan said firmly, looking up. He had a school bag half-filled with clothes and first aid supplies he'd collected from the bathroom cupboard. "I didn't just see it," he continued. "It was—" He stopped, reconsidered his words and finished, staring at his mom pointedly, "I ran away from it. I ran away from it after I saw it climb out of thin air." Joyce stared at him helplessly. "It didn't have a face, Mom," he finished.

"The Demogorgon?" Will asked from the hallway. Joyce turned, eyeing each of her sons in turn. "It's back?" Will didn't sound surprised, but there was a tremor in his voice that made Joyce's heart ache.

Jonathan nodded reluctantly. "Pack clothes," he instructed, "Food, soap. The basics, you know?" Will's eyes were wide, but he turned without another word and the sounds of him stuffing supplies in his backpack carried down the hall. With his brother in the other room, Jonathan turned back to his mom. "Pack weapons, too."

Joyce clenched her fists at the memory of the wall distending in Will's room last year and the thought of the monster returning, peeling back the veil between their worlds to reclaim her son. She watched Jonathan reach under his bed and pull out a baseball bat that had been drilled with metal spikes. She opened her mouth to oppose the handmade Morningstar, but shook her head and asked, "Where are we going to go? Where are we safe from _It_?"

* * *

Cabin 4's solid-looking padlock opened without complaint. Joyce pocketed the key and pushed the door open. "Just call this the Hopper Hut," she declared.

Will groaned next to her. "Mom," he scolded. "That was lame."

She chuckled to herself and dragged their bags to one of the two bedrooms. Small though it was, the cabin was nice. It had a woodstove in the main room, a four-person table and oil lamps to keep them in the light.

* * *

"It's cabin number four," Hopper had told her, handing over the key. When she hesitated he added, "Just think of it like a vacation."

Joyce responded jokingly, "What's a vacation?"

Their smiles were brief. Time was short. But Joyce couldn't bring herself to get back in the car and drive away. She wrung her hands and stared at Jim and Jonathan, her eyes wide and imploring. Behind her, Will waited in the Pinto, rifling through his bag.

"How is this going to help?" Joyce asked.

Hopper lit a cigarette, took a long pull, then handed it to Joyce and lit a second for himself. Smoke curled around the little orange ember as he flicked his thumbnail across the filter absentmindedly. "Forty-two missing person reports in thirty-six hours, Joyce," he stated matter-of-factly. His eyebrows lowered angrily. "I am responsible for the people in this town. They deserve a chance."

Joyce took a drag on her cigarette and glared at him out of the corner of her eyes. "You are _not_ responsible for this," she corrected. When he gave her an exasperated look, she followed up, "How? What can you do?" Before he had a chance to answer, she cut in, "The bastard couldn't be killed before. You _can't_ fight it. Let the government handle this."

"Let me talk, Joyce," he said. "Okay? A little trust, remember?" She rolled her eyes and he continued, "I already called it in to the station. Powell and Callahan are going to issue an evacuation statement." Joyce scrunched her eyebrows in disbelief. The chief answered her silent question: "Radiation leak. Maybe not plausible, but who's going to risk sticking around, just in case? Anyway, local news reporters, radio stations, everything, it's going to be all over the media. The whole city has to evacuate by the end of the day."

Joyce actually smiled. "Hop, that's genius!"

The chief raised his eyebrows, but looked pleased nonetheless. Behind him, Jonathan cleared his throat audibly. Joyce's face fell. "Jonathan, come to River Valley with us."

He shifted uncomfortably. The park had been his idea. It was an hour out of Hawkins, somewhere they could regroup with friends and family and work on a plan. And it was well-known. Everyone had camped there, or gone on a field trip or been hiking. Some people, like Hopper, owned cabins at River Valley. The location was a perfect waypoint, but when Jonathan had pitched the idea that morning, as they rushed out of the house, he'd failed to mention that he wouldn't be joining them. At least not initially.

"I'll meet you there in a few hours, Mom," he said quietly.

The Pinto's passenger door swung open and Will stepped out. He glanced warily from the chief to his mom, then told Jonathan sternly, "Get Mike and Lucas and Dustin, okay? Promise you'll get the guys."

Jonathan flashed an encouraging, tight-lipped smile. "That's my plan," he confirmed.

"This is ridiculous!" Joyce yelled. She stomped her cigarette into the ground. "Just call—" She broke off remembering that they'd tried calling. When the calls actually went through, no one picked up. Behind them, traffic on the highway droned steadily past. "Just let me come with you," she pleaded.

Simultaneously, Jonathan and Hopper looked at Will. Joyce followed their gaze to her son, who'd narrowly survived this evil last year and who was finally regaining his health, after months of respiratory infections, and who was now looking desperately at his own feet, waiting for her decision.

Joyce shut her eyes and sighed heavily. "Three hours," she confirmed. She looked meaningfully at Jonathan. "Three hours and you'll be at the cabin."

Jonathan nodded, crossed in front of Hopper and wrapped his arms around her. Joyce squeezed her son. "Be safe, Jonathan. Please be safe."

"I will, Mom." His voice was muffled against her shoulder. When they separated, he adopted the same reassuring grin he'd given Will. "Just picking up a couple kids. How dangerous could that be?" Joyce gave a quick laugh, but remembered the studded bat that was sitting on the passenger seat of his car.

When Hopper leaned in and kissed Joyce on the cheek, the boys turned away automatically. She heard Will confide in Jonathan, "I left my Walkie-Talkie in my room. If you get it, the guys will answer." Jonathan was quiet. "If you can't go back for it, that's not a big deal either," Will added.

"I'll see you soon," Hopper assured Joyce.

* * *

Joyce was spreading blankets on the bed when she saw Will shutting the front door. "No, leave that open!" she called out. Will turned to her questioningly. "I just want to be able to hear when your brother and Hopper get here," she explained. He nodded and swung the door wide. When he turned away, she looked at her watch again. Two hours down.

* * *

A/N: I hope this chapter was easy to follow. Obviously I had to do some backpedaling to fill in some of the blanks after Jonathan went missing and all hell broke loose. Thank you for the follows, faves and feedback as always! I hope you like it!


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Okay, this is now officially the longest chapter. Sorry, but as the plot unfolds, I think they may be getting longer. Anyhow, I really hope you enjoy it and thank you, of course, for the faves, follows and feedback!

* * *

Jonathan

"It just came out of the tree in front of you?" Nancy asked. She was turned in the passenger seat, staring at him and hugging herself, despite the warmth in the car. Pavement chips ricocheted off of the Ford's underbelly as they sped down the street.

"Like it was made of fabric," Jonathan confirmed without taking his eyes off of the road. "It just tore through. I thought at first that the tree was falling. I was trying to cut it down—"

"I saw," Nancy interrupted. Jonathan glanced at her. "The axe," she explained. "And this," she said, holding out his flannel jacket. "It's how I knew you were there."

Jonathan nodded.

"Oh my God, Jonathan," Nancy whispered. "We were right." She watched out the windshield as they swerved around cars and trucks heading out of the city. Neither of them flinched at the angry horns blaring as they sped past. "So you went to the police?" she asked.

"To Hopper, yeah," he replied. "I mean, after I got Mom and Will out of the house. But then we went to the chief." They slowed at an intersection where a truck and an RV had collided, blocking a line of traffic. Jonathan took a sharp right, detouring them a few minutes, but putting distance between them and the parade of evacuating vehicles. "I couldn't just go to the police station. Hopper is the only one who would believe another one of those monsters is back."

Nancy stiffened. " _Another_? What do you mean ' _another_?'"

Jonathan exhaled slowly. "That's not the same one that attacked us last year. It's smaller, slower and weaker." He paused to let the idea sink in. "I think… I think this one is younger." He met her glance and slowed as they entered her subdivision. "And I think there's more than one, Nancy. The chief said over forty people have gone missing in less than two days."

Over the low hum of the car's engine, sirens still shook the city. "River Valley?" Nancy asked.

Jonathan nodded. "It's outside of Hawkins. It's just a temporary safe place while we figure out our next move, or wait for the government or national guard or whatever military force to take care of this." Three more cars skidded past, honking angrily. Jonathan watched them recede in the rearview mirror and added, "If over forty people are missing today, how many will be gone tomorrow or next week? How long before Hawkins is gone entirely? We need everyone to get as far from Hawkins and that department of energy lab as possible."

At the mention of the lab, Nancy was reminded of her dream and the ludicrous plan to break in. Smiling at the absurdity, the said, "I actually had a dream—" She cut herself short, remembering the rest of the dream. Jonathan glanced at her as he pulled onto her road. "How did you find me?" she asked, changing the subject.

Jonathan grabbed a black radio from next to his seat and held it up. It took her a moment to place where she'd seen it before, then recognized it as one of the boys' Walkie-Talkies. Jonathan pulled into her driveway and said, "Your brother told me you weren't home when I called him on this. Then I got lucky guessing where you might be."

Nancy swung open the car door as they rolled to a stop. "I'm the one that was lucky." She spun in her seat and that's when Jonathan first saw the slash down the left side of her back. Her shirt was torn, the edges of the fabric stained rusty with blood and beneath, her pale skin was inflamed and puckered around the wound. He heard her gasp when she stood up. Her fingers fluttered along the cut and she cringed at the hot stabs of pain.

Jonathan was outside of the car in an instant, standing by her open door and propping her up by her arm. "I'm so sorry," he breathed. His eyes were bright and sympathetic, his expression creased with worry. "I should have been there sooner."

"Nancy?" Mrs. Wheeler's frantic voice carried across the driveway as she bolted out the front door. Mr. Wheeler and Holly stayed inside, watching from the threshold. Jonathan held out his hand to stop her from embracing her daughter, but Mrs. Wheeler threw her arms around Nancy and reeled at the yelp of pain it caused.

"I fell," Nancy explained quickly. Karen still insisted on spinning her daughter around to gasp at the blood-tinged strips of fabric swaying in the breeze.

The Wheeler's station wagon was at an angle in the driveway. Its back hatch was wide open and Jonathan counted two coolers and three suitcases. Through the storm door, he saw Mr. Wheeler turn and walk back into the house. Holly's palms were pressed flat against the window, her eyes wide and attentive to her mother's every movement.

"We have to get you cleaned up," Mrs. Wheeler was saying. She took over Jonathan's position, cradling Nancy's elbow and steering her inside. "Do you know what's going on? The whole city is being evacuated."

"I know, Mom," Nancy replied, stepping up to the porch and pulling herself free. "I'm fine, really. I just need a new shirt."

Jonathan followed them inside quietly. The door snapped shut, muting the wailing sirens and echoing car horns. Holly stared at him uncertainly and snatched her mom's hand.

"Where did you find her?" Karen asked.

"Um…" Jonathan began.

Nancy interrupted, "I was walking home from Steve's. He was driving past and offered to give me a ride." She gave Jonathan the slightest nod.

"Uh, yeah," he agreed.

"We're going to River Valley," Nancy continued. Her mom pursed her lips. "It's one of the evacuation spots. Jonathan talked to Chief Hopper. His mom and brother are already there and a bunch of other people are meeting there, too."

"The chief is going to be there?" Mrs. Wheeler asked.

"Will's there?" Mike's voice piped from the kitchen. The sound of a phone hanging up revealed where he'd been. "What about Dustin and Lucas?" Mike appeared in the hallway holding his Walkie-Talkie and looking anxious.

"Their families can take care of them," Mrs. Wheeler said firmly. She turned her attention back to Jonathan and Nancy. "The chief will be there?"

"Yeah," Jonathan said. "It's one of the refuge locations. He's helping evacuate people now." The fact that he was specifically evacuating Mike and Will's friends was better left unsaid, since he suspected Mrs. Wheeler didn't have much insight into the role her kids played in managing the disaster last year. "We're supposed to meet him there in…," Jonathan checked his watch, "…one hour." He looked at Nancy and said, "We have to go."

"We all have to go," Mrs. Wheeler added. "This radiation leak…"

Her husband walked past, carrying another suitcase, and said loudly, "Russia!"

Jonathan followed Nancy upstairs while Mrs. Wheeler headed toward the kitchen, saying, "I've got to get ahold of Katherine." Mike darted past her and charged up the stairs.

"What about Dustin and Lucas?" he asked them again. "They're not answering their phones or Walkie-Talkies." Nancy was grabbing cotton swabs and mercurochrome from the bathroom cabinet. She passed Mike in the hall and ushered both of them into her bedroom.

Jonathan shut the door and said in a low voice, "Hopper's getting them and their families. He's going to lead them to River Valley and I'm getting you guys. We're all going to meet there." He paused; then added, "And we're running out of time."

Mike scrunched his face suspiciously. " _Why?_ " he finally asked.

Nancy pointed at the door. "Look the other way, Mike." After he shook his head and obediently spun around, she turned her back to Jonathan. "Can you?" she asked. Tugging on the seams of her shirt, the tear split wider, exposing the cut.

Jonathan picked up the bottle of mercurochrome and went to dab the wand against her cut when he stopped. "Nancy," he said, hand still holding the medicine. "It's scabbed." He looked closer. "It's not bleeding. It's not even close to bleeding anymore."

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

Behind him, Jonathan could feel Mike peering over his shoulder. He put the mercurochrome on her dresser and reached out. "I'm going to touch it, okay? Really gentle." Nancy nodded and he brushed his fingertips against the hardened channel that ran in a jagged line between the flared edges of her angry, swollen skin. He heard her breath catch. "It's _healing_ ," he said, shocked.

She sighed impatiently and shooed him away, shooting daggers at Mike who immediately spun back around. Leaning against her vanity, Nancy examined the reflection. She craned her neck and turned to catch the light just right before shaking her head bemusedly. "It doesn't make any sense," she said. The cut itself looked like a three-day-old scab; surrounding the swell of painful, pink flesh that bordered the wound, her skin was greenish-yellow, like an old bruise. Despite knowing better, she touched the cut again and cringed. "It still hurts like hell," she complained.

"What happened?" Mike asked in awe, openly gawking at his sister's reflection.

Nancy snapped back, "My God, Mike, will you _please_ turn around?"

"No!" he shot back, glaring from Nancy to Jonathan. "Tell me what the hell is going on! Why is the police chief picking up Dustin and Lucas and their families? What happened to you?" He set his jaw angrily and clenched his fists around the Walkie-Talkie.

From downstairs, a heated argument was beginning. Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler's voices carried upstairs, incoherent, but irritated. Outside, a shriek of rubber on pavement indicated another neighbor making a quick escape. Over the siren, a distant echo of evacuation procedures was rolling through their subdivision. Louder than all of it, Jonathan heard his own heartbeat, like the rhythmic rush of the ocean tide. He looked to Nancy for direction and she seemed to deflate a little. "Tell him," she instructed.

While she began pulling clothes out of her dresser and closet, Jonathan told Mike, "There's another monster. Like before—the Demogorgon."

Mike's fists relaxed and his jaw went slack as the information sunk in. "Another…" He trailed off. "How do you know?" he asked.

"I saw it," Jonathan replied.

"He fought it," Nancy added. She was haphazardly shoving piles of clothes into a canvas tote. "And _it_ is what happened to me."

Mike's jaw dropped completely. "No way!"

"Yes way!" she snapped. "Now, will you turn around for real this time? I need to change." Mike dipped his chin in a quick nod, turned and sat down, facing the door. As if proving his compliance, he switched on the Walkie-Talkie and began vainly paging Dustin and Lucas. Nancy turned to Jonathan and whispered through her teeth, "I need your help." He raised his eyebrows questioningly. Nancy made an uncomfortable, tight-lipped smile. "I don't want this to be weird or whatever," she explained, fidgeting. "I just need help." She glanced at Mike out of the corner of her eye. "I can't reach behind to undo my… bra." She dropped her eyes to the floor. "It really hurts like hell when I move my left arm at all," she explained quickly, trying to stomp out the tension in her words.

"Yeah, okay," Jonathan replied. It felt like an incredibly inadequate response, but he couldn't manage anything better. Behind him, Mike's calls suspiciously became louder and more frequent – something Nancy noticed also, as she let out an annoyed sigh and turned her back to Jonathan.

"Just be careful," she warned.

"Right," he said, grabbing the torn edges of her shirt and lifting up, being careful not to touch the skin. The thin fabric of her bra was practically shredded over the cut. Thankfully, none of it seemed to have been caught in the wound. The two elastic bands running parallel across her ribs were pressed tenderly in the swollen skin beneath. Bunching the hem of her shirt in his left hand, Jonathan tucked two fingers of his right hand behind the bra clasp. Nancy's slight frame shivered at the touch and he withdrew immediately. "I'm sorry," he said. "My fingers are freezing." He rubbed them against his leg, but they still felt cold and clammy when he reached out again.

"It's fine," Nancy assured him. But he could see the goosebumps prickling across her back.

The moment felt simultaneously intimate and, as he overheard Mike's repeated attempts to reach his friends, awkward. He looped his forefinger beneath the clasp and pinched his thumb against the fabric, releasing the hooks in one swift movement.

"Thank you," Nancy said, but Jonathan had already turned around, giving her privacy. He ran his hands through his hair and tapped his foot out of beat. The memory of her kiss was barreling its way to the forefront of his thoughts and he had a desperate urge to pack something, go for a run or do anything remotely productive.

Behind him, Nancy was shuffling into a new shirt, gingerly pulling it over her head and trying not to touch her back. The argument downstairs was reaching a pitch. Jonathan heard Mrs. Wheeler mention the name Katherine again, forcefully.

"I'm ready," Nancy announced. Mike and Jonathan turned around. The canvas tote was looped around her arm and she was wearing a striped, short-sleeved shirt. "Do you know what's going on with Aunt Katherine?" she asked Mike.

Her brother shrugged, opening the door. As they piled out of the hallway and descended the stairs, the argument hit them in full force.

"Get in the car with Holly, Karen," Mr. Wheeler was saying angrily. "We're leaving _now_."

"I'm not abandoning my sister, Ted!" she screamed back. Holly was hiding behind Mrs. Wheeler's legs, peering out silently.

Nancy, Mike and Jonathan froze on the landing. Mr. Wheeler regarded them coolly, then said, " _I_ will go get Katherine." He made a display of grabbing his set of car keys from a hook on the wall and jingled them. "Take the kids," he told Mrs. Wheeler, "And get them out of Hawkins. I'll meet you at the park in an hour or so."

His car was long gone when Jonathan shut the trunk of his Ford and nodded at Nancy. Mrs. Wheeler was buckling Holly into their station wagon when Mike, standing in the middle of the driveway, seemed to come to a decision and veered toward Jonathan's car.

"Nancy, Mike, come on," Mrs. Wheeler called out. She shut the car's back door, closing Holly inside and squinted at her children, clustered around the old Ford.

"I'm riding with Jonathan," Nancy announced.

"Me too," Mike said, puffing out his chest.

Jonathan had the feeling that their dad's absence was making this change in plans possible.

"Don't be ridiculous," Mrs. Wheeler said. "We're going to the same place. Just get over here." She crossed to the driver's side and opened the door. When neither of her kids obeyed, she turned and eyed them individually.

"You're right," Nancy chimed in. "We are going to the same place. So it shouldn't matter who we go with. You can follow us. So we won't be out of your sight…" Her voice was drowned out by a fresh siren overhead.

Mrs. Wheeler shook her head at the cacophony. "Fine," she gave in. "Fine, I'll follow you. We just need to leave now."

Jonathan started up the engine and checked his watch. Thirty minutes. They were going to be late. He hoped his mom and Will were safe.


	17. Chapter 17

Mike

They were on the road for ten minutes before Mike remembered his seatbelt. Neither Jonathan nor Nancy payed attention to the metallic click of the buckle. They were both resolutely staring straight ahead. In the rearview mirror, Jonathan's dark eyes reflected their intense focus as he maneuvered the Ford through back roads that were thankfully less clogged with fleeing residents. Every few seconds, like clockwork, he lifted his right eyebrow and flicked his gaze back to Mrs. Wheeler, ensuring she was still behind them. Next to him, the top of Nancy's head was just visible, bobbing fluidly with each swerve.

Mike turned his attention to his lap, where the Walkie-Talkie sat in relentless silence. Its antenna, fully extended, brushed the back of the passenger seat. He cradled the radio in both of his hands, chewing his lip, then placed it on the seat next to him. Jonathan's messenger bag was sitting on the floor and inside, Mike spotted the Pentax camera Nancy had given him last Christmas.

They took a left turn, edging closer to the highway, but still off of the main grid. The silence in the car was thick and felt infuriatingly deliberate. In the rearview mirror, Jonathan's eyes were still staring stonily ahead and Nancy was gradually slumping forward in her seat.

"Where did you see the Demogorgon?" he asked, breaking the silence.

Jonathan looked at him in the mirror, flicked his eyes to the road behind, then dropped them to the way ahead before clearing his throat and responding, "You know the woods where Will went missing? Off Cornwallis and Kerley?"

"Mirkwood," Mike confirmed.

Jonathan was quiet, but when he looked back in the mirror, Mike saw the hint of a smile in his eyes. "That's what Will calls it, too."

Mike chose his next words carefully. He knew what he wanted to ask, but wasn't sure how to go about it. "Did you just see the Demogorgon?"

"What do you mean?" Jonathan replied.

Mike exhaled slowly and pinched his eyebrows together. "Did you see anything… or any _one_ else?" he asked. He hoped it sounded nonchalant, but from the look he was getting in the mirror, he doubted it.

"Your friend?" Jonathan asked. "The girl?"

Mike scratched his head and mumbled, "Eleven."

"Eleven," Jonathan repeated. "I'm sorry, Mike. No." He seemed to consider the idea for a minute and asked, "I thought you and the other guys saw her disappear."

Mike dropped his hand. "Well, yeah, but we saw the Demogorgon disappear, too. If it's back, then maybe Eleven is, too." He looked out the window as he spoke, scanning the trees with a sudden certainty that Eleven must be out there somewhere.

"This isn't the same monster as last time," Jonathan explained. He made eye contact through the mirror for a brief moment. "It's not the same," he repeated firmly.

Mike sighed. Part of the hopefulness that had sparked earlier collapsed, but part of it was still shining. The chapter of his life with Eleven wasn't done yet. He knew it. He just needed to talk to the guys about it.

Holding the Walkie-Talkie to his mouth, Mike held down the button and said clearly, "Dustin. Come in, Dustin. Over."

The radio fell silent. They took a right and Nancy let out a weak sigh.

"You okay, Nancy?" Mike asked, returning his Walkie-Talkie to the seat.

She covered her face with her hands and spoke through her fingers, "Headache." Her voice was thin and Mike exchanged a worried look with Jonathan.

"How's your back?" Jonathan asked. When Nancy didn't respond, he reached across the seat and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. "She feels really hot."

Mike didn't know how to respond. He was sure they had some aspirin packed in one of the bags his dad had stuffed in the station wagon. But was it worth stopping and trying to find some? "She's been looking pretty sick lately," he suggested. "Maybe she has the flu?" He lurched forward as Jonathan suddenly pumped the brakes. At first he thought they were stopping to look for medicine, then he noticed the collision ahead.

Jonathan flipped on the Ford's headlights, flooding the scene ahead. A Volkswagen Rabbit was turned almost perpendicular to the road, its front end crumpled. In front of it, pushed nearly into the ditch was a familiar BMW coupe. The rear driver's side wheel was at a forty-five degree angle and the tire was peeled halfway off of the rim. As they came to a coasting stop, Steve walked into the road, waving his arms to flag them down. He shielded his eyes from the glare of the headlights and crossed to the driver's side window.

"Thanks for stopping. She hit that loose gravel back there too fast and—" He stopped abruptly when he got to the window and stared at the passengers incredulously. " _Byers_?" he finally said, dumbfounded. He looked past Jonathan, assessed Nancy and glanced in the back seat.

Mike waved. "Hey, Steve."

* * *

Traffic was surprisingly smooth on the highway, if a little busier than usual. It seemed that enough people were branching in all directions away from Hawkins that the bottleneck eased once they got out of the city limits.

"Jesus, I cannot believe this," Steve said to no one in particular. Since sharing his story about the Demogorgon and hearing about Jonathan and Nancy's close encounter, he'd been issuing a steady stream of profanity under his breath.

They passed under a sign announcing the next few exits. In the wake of the sign's lamps, they were plunged back into darkness. "We're almost there," Jonathan announced. His eyes flickered to the station wagon behind them where Mike's mom and sister had taken on Mrs. Harrington and the woman who was driving the VW as passengers.

Nancy moaned from the front seat.

"What's wrong with her?" Steve asked, his concern for Nancy outweighing everything else. He turned to Mike and Jonathan in turn. "Nancy?" he asked, reaching forward and placing a hand on her shoulder.

Nancy's left hand, curled into a crescent, was pressed against her cheek, propping her head up. She didn't seem to notice Steve's touch.

"She has a fever," Mike said. He looked at Steve and shrugged. "Probably the flu."

Another streetlamp illuminated the inside of the car and Steve's worry was apparent in the crease in his brow and heavy frown. A moment later the light was gone and his expression was hidden in the shadows again. "There's medicine in one of my mom's bags," he said.

Jonathan nodded. "We're getting off in two more stops. We'll get her some aspirin. And Hopper's cabin has two bedrooms, so she can sleep."

He looked across the seat as Nancy raised her head. "I had a dream about you," she said softly.

In the aftermath of her words, the car was silent. Jonathan kept his eyes determinedly on the road and hands firmly on the wheel. Steve sat back in his seat, withdrawing his hand from Nancy's shoulder. Mike didn't move; he locked his eyes on a smudge across his window and focused every ounce of his energy on ignoring the tension in the car. In his periphery, he saw Nancy relax into her seat.

The gentle vibration of the road beneath them rocked the car hypnotically. Pairs of headlights passed on their left every so often. Some belonged to cars evacuating Hawkins. Some were just travelers passing a cursed town they knew nothing about.

"What did she say?" Steve asked, breaking the stunned silence.

In the reflection of his mom's headlights, Mike saw Jonathan's eyes refusing to break from the road. "She's feverish," Jonathan explained. His voice didn't sound very convincing, but Mike thought he had a pretty good point. That wasn't something Nancy would admit without being at least a little delirious.

"Are you and Nancy…?" Steve began. But he stopped when Nancy suddenly stiffened in her seat.

Mike saw the top of her head shivering. "Nancy?" he cried. The car swerved violently, dropping a tire off of the shoulder, then back onto pavement as Jonathan reached out to grab her arm. Steve shot forward in his seat and Mike watched as Nancy went limp. She slumped in her seat; her head caught on the seatbelt, turning to face Jonathan and then ricocheted loudly against the window before her body crumpled against the door.


	18. Chapter 18

Joyce

"Come on, Jonathan," she whispered under her breath. She was leaning in the doorway, eyes fixed on the path she and Will had followed. Her fingers drummed against the doorframe impatiently. Overhead the sky was turning a rosy blue following the sunset. Reflected in the pond's surface was a heavy moon, growing brighter as the sky dimmed. Joyce checked her watch. They were thirty minutes late.

"Hey, Mom," Will called. He marched across the lawn carrying an armful of neatly cut firewood. "Mr. Clarke gave me some wood for the stove in case it gets cold tonight. He has a whole pile from last year stacked up behind his cabin."

Joyce tried to smile as he passed her and unloaded his cargo next to the stove. She waved to Mr. Clarke who was lighting citronella candles on the porch of cabin seven. The teacher gave her a concerned half-smile and an empathetic wave.

"I think I need paper to start this." Joyce turned to watch Will stacking the thinnest pieces of wood in the belly of the stove. "Or leaves? I could probably get some dry leaves in the woods," he suggested. He gazed up at his mom with a questioning look.

"How about we get some tomorrow?" Joyce asked. "I don't think we need a fire tonight." Even as she spoke, she wrapped her arms around herself. The sky was sinking to a deep purple and the temperature was dropping with it.

Will read the concern in her face and said confidently, "They'll be here."

Joyce crossed the room in three quick strides and hugged him. She envied his faith and was forever grateful for the trust her sons had in each other. Of course Will never questioned whether Jonathan would arrive. He trusted his brother, implicitly.

A sharp knock on the doorframe broke them apart. Joyce stood up to find Mr. Clarke standing politely on the front steps holding a citronella candle in a miniature aluminum bucket. His mustache spread with a big cartoonish grin and held out the bucket. "I figured you might need this if you're going to have your door open," he explained. "Take it from me. That pond," he pointed over his shoulder, "is a breeding ground for mosquitoes."

Mr. Clarke had arrived an hour earlier. He was one of a dozen new residents of the campsite and one of two people who owned cabins. His was larger than Hopper's and he immediately opened his doors to the Williams – a family of four with a daughter who was a grade below Will and arrived fifteen minutes after Mr. Clarke, looking as panicked and lost as everyone else. He was also, as far as Joyce could tell, distributing firewood to every other family and evacuee, as well as endless words of encouragement. How he managed to remain so positive, Joyce didn't know. But she assumed it had something to do with spending his days surrounded by rowdy children.

"Thank you, Mr. Clarke," she said, accepting the candle and handing it to Will.

"Call me Scott, please," he replied with another mustached grin. "And if you need anything else, I'm just a couple cabins away."

He turned just as a set of headlights broke through the woods, illuminating the path exit. The light heaved up and down as the car approached and Joyce raced out of the cabin. Suddenly a Blazer broke through the trees, narrowly squeezing through the campsite's entry. It idled for a moment and then the engine cut. The driver's side door swung open as another set of headlights glowed from behind, moving more cautiously down the dirt path.

Joyce's anxiety gave way to utter relief when she saw Hopper's silhouette slide out of the truck. The passenger door opened and the jumble of shadows in the cab was revealed to be three people she didn't immediately recognize. She raced across the dewy grass and threw her arms around the chief.

"Thank God," she cried. "I was so worried."

"The city's a wreck," he said shakily, holding her. "The cavalry was headed in when we were leaving: military, government, whatever special task force is assigned with this shit show."

"You weren't questioned?" Joyce asked.

Hopper shook his head. "I didn't stick around to go through that again."

The headlights of the second car cut out and she heard doors slamming just inside the forest line. Apparently Jonathan had decided to park on the path. She pulled away from Hopper to see three people emerge from the woods. She recognized the boy as Dustin, Will's friend, and the two adults with him must have been his parents. But no Jonathan.

Anxiety began to build inside her again. "Hop," she said slowly, turning to face him. "Where's Jonathan?"

Hopper gave her a blank stare. "He isn't here yet?" he asked.

"No!" she yelled. "How do you not know? You were with him!" She was shaking so hard she didn't notice the newcomers that were standing to the side, gawking at them. Her hands were balled into fists, clamped to her sides.

"Joyce, he'll be here any minute," Hopper assured her. "There wasn't enough time, so we split up. He went to get the Wheeler kids. And I went to find your friends," he addressed someone behind Joyce. She turned to see Will, silently watching from the edge of the pond.

Joyce covered her mouth with her hand nervously and gave the chief an imploring look. Hopper rubbed her arms, looking toward the dirt path. "He'll be here."

From behind Hopper, the curly-haired boy raised his hand. "Hey, Will," he called through the group.

"Hi, Dustin," Will replied.

The simple exchange punctured whatever tension was holding the crowd together and, one by one, Hopper's passengers and Mr. and Mrs. Henderson walked away, drawn to the light of Scott's cabin and the potential of claiming their own.

After the rest were out of earshot, Will asked Dustin and Hopper, "Where's Lucas?"

Joyce scanned the area. He wasn't one of Hopper's passengers. Neither were his parents. She looked at the chief and Dustin in turns. The boy dropped his head solemnly and Hopper ran his fingers through his hair a few times before answering. "Their house was empty," he said shortly.

"And…" Dustin prodded him to continue.

"And their cars were there." Hopper held his hands out in defeat. "The front door was open. And the neighbors said they heard…" He glanced sideways at Will. "Screams," he finished.

Joyce wrapped her other hand around her mouth and whispered, "Oh my God."

Dustin told Will miserably, "Lucas' bike was laying in their yard."

Joyce watched her son fold over and place his face in his hands. Dustin's duffle bag slid off his shoulder and hit the ground with a soft _thump_. In the distance, Scott was carrying on a conversation with the Hendersons in the flickering light of his citronella candles.

A beam of light faintly rose out of the woods from the path and Joyce's heart leapt. She and Hopper left the boys behind, walking toward the entrance to the forest. The headlights grew brighter, bouncing as the car maneuvered around fallen branches and dips. It turned a slight curve and Joyce recognized the old Ford. "Jonathan!" she cried out happily. Relief washed over her as a second car pulled in behind her son – the Wheelers, she assumed. But when Jonathan stopped behind the Hendersons' car, no one got out. The red and wood-paneled station wagon pulled in last and the doors swung open before Mrs. Wheeler cut the engine. Two other women that Joyce didn't know got out of the car and began removing suitcases from the trunk. Karen pulled her youngest daughter out and rushed to Jonathan's Ford.

Joyce was slowly walking forward, an vague fear growing within. Beside her, Hopper breezed past, his silhouette in the headlights casting a shadow across her. She heard a door open and the familiar voice of Mike. "Nancy's sick," he said. Then Joyce was rushing forward, caught suddenly in a group of six or seven people. Jonathan was there, looking shaken. He nodded curtly to her from the other side of the car.

"Sick?" Karen asked. "What do you mean sick?" She opened the passenger door where Nancy was hunched over in the seat. "Nancy?"

"I think maybe we should take her to a hospital," said a boy standing next to Jonathan. Joyce thought he looked familiar – maybe a classmate of her son's – but she couldn't place the name.

"She had like a seizure or something, Mom," Mike added.

Karen released her younger daughter's hand and knelt next to the car, grabbing Nancy's shoulders. "A seizure?" she repeated.

Hopper was standing next to her. "Has she ever had a seizure before?" he asked Mrs. Wheeler.

"No," Karen replied immediately.

"I'm fine," came Nancy's voice finally. She brushed her mom away with a halfhearted sweep of her hand. Everyone was silent, staring at her. "I just fell asleep and hit my head on the window," she explained. "I think I have a cold or something, maybe a fever. I just need sleep and an Advil."

The three boys exchanged nervous looks. Joyce felt certain they were debating arguing with her.

"Why did Mike say you had a seizure?" Karen asked, unconvinced.

"I don't know," Nancy whined. Joyce could tell she was exhausted. Whatever had happened, she was clearly sick and needed rest badly.

"I could be wrong," Mike backpedaled. Jonathan and the other boy shot Mike an identical look. Mike shrugged.

Joyce jumped in, "She can sleep in my bed." She smiled at Karen reassuringly. "I wasn't really planning on getting much sleep tonight anyhow."

Karen stood up and held out her hand for Holly. "Thanks, Joyce. Is Ted around here?"

Joyce looked past Karen at the station wagon, now empty. Somehow she'd assumed Mr. Wheeler was in the car, but the two women who'd ridden with Karen were standing nearby. "Ted's not here, Karen," she said.


	19. Chapter 19

Steve

For the third time, his mom was thanking Scott for offering his bedroom to the two of them. The teacher waved away her thanks by pointing out how comfortable the couch was and unrolling his sleeping bag on top of the cushions. The Williams family was occupying the adjacent bedroom, effectively filling all of Mr. Clarke's available beds.

Steve leaned against the porch railing, bathed in the light pouring out of the cabin's windows. The hum of Scott's generator was too loud for him to overhear anything happening at Hopper's cabin, but he watched Mrs. Wheeler pacing in front with her hands pressed into the small of her back and her eyes glued on the dirt path at the campsite entry. She'd tucked Holly into bed already and Nancy followed, leaving Karen to agonize over Mr. Wheeler's persistent absence.

It had been two hours since they'd arrived. Four more cars pulled in, bringing the total number of people at the site to forty-two. But Mr. Wheeler hadn't made an appearance. Neither had the Sinclairs – something Mike, Will and Dustin were discussing in hushed, urgent voices behind Hopper's cabin. Steve couldn't make out what the three boys were saying over the din of the generator, but their anxious faces were clear and the Walkie-Talkie they were using seemed to yield no results.

Steve exhaled loudly and crossed his arms. He was tired of feeling powerless, but couldn't come up with a single useful plan. Across the pond, a cluster of refugees had laid out sleeping bags or blankets under the pavilion. One middle-aged man was working diligently to set up a navy blue tent. Nearby, a campfire burned in a dirt pit. The people sitting around the fire were nervous and silent. Even from where he was standing, Steve could see the whites of their eyes as they looked around, lost and confused.

Every one of them thought they'd been driven out of their homes by a radiation leak. No one knew the truth. Steve exhaled angrily again. He scanned the area slowly. Of the ten cabins circling the pond, only three were occupied. The other seven were dark and locked.

Steve glanced through the window to see Scott carrying on a conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Williams and Steve's mom. Behind the group, through an open door, Steve saw two young children sleeping in the same bed, a stuffed bunny squeezed between them. Pulling his gaze back outside, Steve spotted an axe leaning against Scott's mountain of firewood.

Three of the seven cabin doors were secured with a padlock. The rest were deadbolts. On the first cabin, Mrs. Wheeler had spun around to stare at him, startled by the noise. By the third padlock, she'd turned her attention back to the dirt path, but the three boys surrounded him, watching when Steve brought the axe crashing down, breaking the lock in two. It was his cleanest swing yet and felt oddly satisfying to push the door open.

"This is breaking and entering," Dustin said accusingly.

A group had migrated from the pavilion to watch Steve break the locks. When he turned, he found himself facing an audience. He cocked one eyebrow and tossed the axe up, catching it with the other hand. The door to Hopper's cabin opened and the chief stuck his head out. He eyed Steve, then pulled his head back in.

Steve looked at Dustin and shrugged. "Then the chief can arrest me when we get back to Hawkins." He turned to address the group that had come from the pavilion. "Anyone with kids should take a cabin," he said in a clear voice. Then, quieter, he added, "We need a crowbar or something to get the others opened."

The crowd dissipated and families began shuffling into the open cabins. Through the movement, Jonathan appeared. He looked at Mike, then Steve and told them, "Nancy's getting worse."


	20. Chapter 20

Day 1

Mike

His watch read 12:30. Outside, stars blinked in the midnight sky. Heads bobbed past the window as more people filled the available cabins and the last four were pried open, at Steve's suggestion. Dustin and his family were crowded in with five other people next door. He'd wanted to bunk with Mike, but there wasn't enough room and with Nancy in her condition…

He and Will were sitting at the table, looking at each other, but listening to the hushed voices in the second bedroom. "She threw up the painkillers almost immediately," Jonathan was whispering to Steve. Mike wasn't sure if he was keeping his voice down for Nancy's sake or Holly's, who was sleeping in the first bedroom.

The cabin was dimly lit with oil lamps. Their flames cast monstrous shadows across the walls and turned the world a smoldering orange color. "What's her temperature?" Steve asked. He cycled through nervously chewing his nails and stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"A hundred four," Jonathan replied. He glanced back into the bedroom where Mike's mom was standing over the bed whispering to the chief and Will's mom. "Twenty minutes ago," Jonathan added. Mike could just make out his sister's face between Mrs. Byers and Hopper. The blankets were pulled up to her chin and she looked peaceful.

Steve pulled Jonathan out of the doorway and lowered his voice even more. Mike had to strain to catch the words. "She had a seizure," he whispered. "I know what I saw."

Jonathan looked over his shoulder and Mike immediately looked away, pretending to be immersed in the wood grain of the tabletop. "Remember when we told you about the…" He checked over his shoulder again. "…monster? And how it scratched Nancy?" He paused. Inside the bedroom Mike's mom could be heard complaining about his dad's absence. "The cut was bad. She was bleeding. But it started healing in minutes."

"What are you talking about?" came Steve's voice.

"Shh," Jonathan hushed him. "I don't know how to explain it, but in ten minutes this two-foot cut was scabbed shut. Like, an old scab. It was just healing unnaturally." Mike cautiously lifted his head from the table to see Steve squinting at Jonathan confusedly. Jonathan continued, "I don't know if the two are related, but the wound and then the fever…" He trailed off, leaving his suspicion unfinished.

"What, like poison?" Steve asked.

Jonathan shrugged. "Or bacteria. I don't know. Maybe it's not related."

Mike's mom walked into the main room then, silencing their conversation. She scanned the two older boys huddled near the front door and the two younger sitting at the table. "Your dad and I will take Nancy to the hospital in the morning if she still has a fever," she told Mike.

"Dad's not even here," Mike protested.

"He will be by the morning," she snapped. She'd obviously spent the past couple hours convincing herself of this and Mike wasn't going to argue with her. His mom took a steadying breath and continued, "Nancy's sleeping, so I'm going to take the second bed in that room. You boys," she addressed Mike and Will, "take the bunkbed in with Holly, but _do not_ wake her."

Behind her, Mrs. Byers and Chief Hopper left Nancy's side and walked into the main room. "Mom," Will complained. "I'm not tired."

" _Go_ ," Mrs. Byers replied firmly.

Mike gave Will an understanding look. "Come on," he said.

The bedroom was almost pitch black when the door was closed and the boys had to settle into bed using the thin strip of flickering light that crept through the narrow gap below the door. Once they'd gotten comfortable and the rustling sheets and squeaking bedsprings ceased, Holly's soft, rhythmic breathing filled the room. On the other side of the door, voices were carrying on muted conversations. Mike held his breath and focused on the individual voices, but couldn't pick out any words through the soft mumbling.

Then Will's voice, barely more than a whisper, floated up to him. "Mike? I need to tell you something."

"Okay," Mike whispered back. The cadence of Holly's breathing in the background confirmed that she wasn't bothered by their voices.

"Do you remember in November and December," Will began. "When I first got back, for a few months I had those respiratory infections?"

Mike nodded to himself. "Of course," he replied. How could he forget? "You were almost never in school and then you had that crazy face mask for a while."

"Nebulizer," Will corrected. "Yeah, that was annoying." He was silent for a minute or two while the mumble of voices outside their door continued. "I didn't have an infection," he finally said.

"What do you mean?" Mike asked.

"I mean, the doctors didn't know what it was. They thought asthma or respiratory infection, but they were just treating symptoms. I didn't have an infection. The coughing was from the Upside Down," he admitted.

A chill ran down Mike's spine. Will didn't like to talk about his time on the other side. He'd shut the door on that nightmare when he came home and clammed up if anyone ever tried to broach the subject. But here he was, in the black of midnight, after the Demogorgon had returned, discussing the Upside Down.

"And something else," Will continued. His voice shook. "It was more than coughing. Do you remember in Mr. Clarke's class when we learned about those mushrooms that release spore clouds? The air in the Upside Down was cloudy with particles, like a dark snow globe. And I think the particles were spores." He sniffed and took a deep breath. This conversation seemed like something he'd rehearsed ages ago, but had never found the courage to bring it up.

Mike was trying to imagine a shadowy snow globe world with black spores spiraling in the air. "Why?" he asked.

"Sometimes when I coughed, it was really violent, like throwing up," he explained shakily. He seemed to be struggling through his words. "And I coughed up these black slugs."

"What?" Mike asked, loudly. He clapped a hand to his mouth and listened, silently, for Holly's steady breathing to tell him that he hadn't woken her. The voices outside the door continued and the gradual in and out of his sister's breath put him at ease. "Slugs?" he whispered. "Gross!"

"I think it was from the spores," Will explained.

Mike furrowed his brow. "But that doesn't make sense," he breathed. "Your mom and Hopper went into the Upside Down too. And Nancy." He thought of Nancy in the other room and her sudden fever. But all she'd thrown up was a couple pills. No slugs. "They're okay… mostly."

Will was quiet, obviously mulling over Mike's reasoning. "Maybe it was something else," he whispered. "I don't remember what happened after the Demogorgon found me in Castle Byers. Maybe it was…" His voice broke again. "But Mike, I think it's my fault." He sniffed loudly.

"What's your fault?" Mike asked, thinking again of Nancy.

"The slugs," Will said. "I was coughing them up for weeks. What if—" He sniffed again and Mike realized his friend was crying. "What if they were, like, Demogorgon larvae? Mike, I think this is all my fault." His breath was coming in quick, shallow bursts. "I think I brought the Demogorgon back with me."


	21. Chapter 21

Day 1

Jonathan

Mrs. Wheeler's voice, filtering through the closed bedroom door, woke Jonathan from a restless sleep. Through the window the sky was a dusky gray streaked with pre-dawn ribbons of gold. The brightest stars were still vaguely visible in the darkest corners. He pushed back the scratchy wool blankets and sat up, arching his back and wincing. The floor hadn't made for a particularly comfortable bed, especially since he'd used his own sweatshirt, balled into a lumpy mound, as a pillow. Standing next to the wood stove was his mom. She eyed him carefully and put her finger to her lips, reminding him that there were still some people asleep. She didn't look like she'd gotten any rest, though. Her eyes were bloodshot and the pouches of skin beneath were puffy and dark. An ashtray sitting on top of the stove was full of butts.

Jonathan stood up, rubbed his eyes and surveyed the room. Hopper was gone, but Steve was still asleep on a rug against the far wall. Mr. Wheeler was nowhere to be seen.

The bedroom door opened halfway and Mrs. Wheeler's head poked out. "Oh, Joyce, can you grab me the thermometer?" she asked.

"Really, Mom," Nancy was saying from inside. "I feel okay. Great, actually!" Jonathan craned his neck to peek inside, but his mom pushed past with the glass thermometer held forward. They disappeared into the bedroom for another few minutes.

"Hey," Steve said groggily. He uncovered himself and sat forward, stifling a yawn. "How's Nance doing?"

Jonathan shook his head just as the bedroom door opened again. Mrs. Wheeler held the thermometer pinched between her fingers. "Fever's gone," she said simply.

"Gone?" Steve repeated.

Mrs. Wheeler shrugged, hurrying past to the front door. "Twenty-four hour flu, maybe." Then she disappeared, off to scour the campsite for her husband and sister.

Jonathan turned to his mom. "Did anyone else arrive after I fell asleep?"

She shook her head and pressed herself against the wall, peering out the window as Mrs. Wheeler stalked away. The sun had broken over the horizon and a shaft of warm light flooded the cabin, catching dust motes twirling in the air.

"Morning," Nancy said from the bedroom doorway. She was still wearing the same striped shirt she'd changed into the day before. It seemed like ages ago to Jonathan, but it hadn't even been twelve hours. Somehow, despite everything – the attack, their escape, her unexplained illness – Nancy looked radiant. Her eyes were bright; her smile was brilliant and she seemed to fill the room with a sudden energy. Jonathan glanced at Steve and his mom, a little smile playing at his lips. For being dangerously ill all night, Nancy managed to look better than anyone else in the morning.

"Well," Joyce announced, clapping her hands together. "I am going to get some water." She picked up a five-gallon plastic jug from Hopper's camping supplies. "And use the restroom," she added quietly. When she got to the door, she turned to Jonathan. "Stay here in case the kids wake up."

As soon as she was gone, he asked Nancy, "Are you okay?"

"How's your back?" Steve asked.

Nancy's smile faltered as she shot an accusing look at Jonathan. "Who else did you tell?" she asked.

Jonathan's eyes opened innocently. He rounded on Steve for support, then said, "No one. And you were there when Steve found out." He searched Nancy's face for any sign of recognition. "In the car? Remember, on our way here?"

Nancy squinted at the floor, her eyes darting back and forth as she flipped through the past twelve hours. "I don't remember much," she admitted. "I barely remember driving here." She lifted her head at peered outside at the dew-laden grass, shimmering in the morning light, and the mist that curled sleepily off of the pond. "River Valley," she said to herself.

Jonathan exchanged glances with Steve and asked, "So, how _is_ your back?"

Nancy ran her fingers along the wound without wincing in pain. "It feels…" She bit her lip and looked outside again, like she was making sure the coast was clear. Then she turned and lifted her shirt a few inches, revealing the very bottom of the cut. "There aren't any mirrors in here. What does it look like? It feels like—"

"A scar," Jonathan finished, gaping at the knotted pink strip that cut across her skin.

"Yeah," Nancy agreed. "It feels like a scar."

Steve looked horrified. "There is _no way_ that happened yesterday," he stated in disbelief.

Jonathan understood his skepticism. There wasn't the hint of a scab, let alone the bloody gash that had been there last night. The skin had healed over, leaving a shiny, pink ridge in its place. Nancy pulled her shirt back down just as Mrs. Wheeler and Mrs. Harrington walked through the front door.


	22. Chapter 22

Day 1

Dustin

"What do you mean slugs? Like, actual slugs? The kind you find outside?" Dustin asked, flicking the brim of his baseball hat up so he could get a better look at Will.

"What other kinds of slugs are there?" Mike asked, annoyed.

"How should I know?" Dustin shot back. He sat down heavily on the fractured edge of a block of shale they'd found inside the forest. The rock was on top of a hill, giving them an ideal spot for watching the camp's movement. Mostly people were waiting, though. The chief had driven off over an hour ago to get an update on Hawkins. No one wanted to stick around, sleeping in cabins and tents for another night, but until they had a status report that confirmed they couldn't return home, they also didn't want to leave for an extended stay with friends or family outside of the area. Some people – Dustin glanced at Mike – were still waiting for family members to arrive. Mike's mom and Mrs. Harrington had left together earlier that afternoon to find a payphone where they could each try calling their husbands.

"You said they were Demogorgon larvae?" Dustin asked.

Will shrugged uncomfortably and looked at his shoes. "Maybe, I don't know. It was just a theory."

"But why?" Dustin pushed. "Did they _look_ like Demogorgon spawn?"

Will gave him a tight-lipped look. Mike rolled his eyes and asked, "How could they look like a Demogorgon? They were _slugs_ , Dustin."

Dustin raised his eyebrows and frowned. He seemed to cool on the topic for a few minutes while the three boys lounged on the rock, letting the silence and calm soak in. "I know," he said finally, leaning forward and looking across at Mike and Will. "I know how they resembled the Demogorgon." He paused for dramatic effect. "They didn't have a face."

Mike and Will stared at Dustin with identical surprised looks. Then, shockingly, Will began laughing. "You're an idiot," Mike said, chuckling while Dustin adopted a fake offended expression.

The laughter wore off quickly and before they knew it, they were talking about Lucas again. "Where's you're comm?" Dustin asked Mike.

Mike shook his head. "In the cabin, but the battery died last night."

"I think mine's in Jonathan's car," Will piped in.

"Good, we should get it," Dustin said.

"I don't think Lucas has his comm with him," Mike replied.

Will lifted his head. "You think he's in the Upside Down?" he asked.

"I don't know," Mike admitted. "Maybe he went to his aunt's house."

"Did he fly?" Dustin asked sarcastically. When Mike looked at him he explained, "Remember what the chief said last night? Both of his parents' cars were still at home. They didn't drive anywhere. And he didn't take his bike."

"I don't know, okay?" Mike replied angrily. "I'm just trying to stay positive."

"And I'm trying to be realistic," Dustin shot back.

"By saying that Lucas got captured?" Mike asked, heatedly.

"So what if he did?" Dustin yelled, standing up and stomping his foot. "We got Will back. Now we're going to get Lucas back!"

Mike was left stunned into silence. Still sitting on the rock, Will looked from one friend to the other. The only sound was Dustin's heavy breathing as he continued to glare at Mike. After he'd digested Dustin's words, Mike asked, "Do you have a plan?"

"Mike, it's your mom," Will interrupted them.

Down the hill, two women were walking into the camp, talking to each other. Mr. Wheeler wasn't with them. Neither was Steve's dad. But when they reached the first cabin, a beige Blazer slowly pulled out of the woods and parked.

"And the chief," Will added.


	23. Chapter 23

Day 2

Joyce

Groups filtered out in twos and threes. They packed up the few necessities they'd brought, stuffed them hastily into their cars and sped off. In their wake they left chip bags and plastic bottles, wadded napkins and, under a picnic table, Joyce found a girl's hairbrush.

The last family to leave was late that second morning. Mr. and Mrs. Williams, holding their young children's hands, excused themselves, thanking Scott over and over for his hospitality. "We have a timeshare near Myrtle Beach," Mr. Williams was hastily explaining to Scott as they backed out of the cabin, suitcases in tow. "We can stay there till the end of the month."

Scott followed them to the porch, waving goodbye. "Hopefully you'll be back in Hawkins before then," he called as they crossed the lawn.

Joyce watched them pass from inside Hopper's cabin. She crossed her arms and turned to the chief. "What am I supposed to do with the boys, Hop?" she asked. Ever since he'd returned last night and reported to the park's inhabitants that Hawkins was still unsafe for residents to return, they'd begun a mass exodus, leaving the camp behind to stay with friends or family or, like the Williams, staying in vacation homes. Each one took a stark white business card from Hopper with the name and number of a government liaison that would provide them with resettlement status for Hawkins. "I don't have anyone to stay with and I can't afford to put us up in a hotel," she complained.

She tried to run a hand through her hair, but stopped when her fingers tangled halfway. It had been two days since she'd showered and she felt like a grimy mess. Her hair was clumping into stringy bunches and her skin was oily. Hopper considered her from across the table. "Stay here," he said shortly.

Joyce cocked her head and he continued, "I'm serious. It's not fancy, but it's free."

Joyce chewed on her lip while she thought about the offer. Outside, Jonathan, Nancy and Steve were sitting beneath the pavilion. The three of them were becoming as inseparable as Will, Dustin and Mike. Pulling up a chair across from Hopper, Joyce asked him, "The officials blocking Hawkins – were they from the Department of Energy?"

Hopper shrugged. "No idea," he replied. "They didn't give me their credentials. Like I said, they had the whole ramp closed off. There were four, maybe five unmarked sedans and a whole crew of suits." He fished the remaining business cards out of his pocket and dropped the stack neatly in the middle of the table. "I got a rehearsed script from one of the guys about containing the radiation leak and they gave me the cards. Said to call for an update in a few days and to stay away from Hawkins."

Joyce looked dubious. "You didn't tell him you _made up_ the radiation leak?"

Hopper looked out at the pavilion and frowned. "The less they think we know, the better."

There was a certain finality in his tone that told her their conversation was over. It also reminded her that there were still over twenty individuals at the campsite who didn't know what kind of danger was _really_ waiting for them in Hawkins.

"You're right," Joyce said, changing the topic. "This place isn't fancy. But if we're going to stay we need to start a fire so I can heat up some water." She met Hopper's gaze. "Because I need to wash my hair. Badly."


	24. Chapter 24

Day Two

Nancy

Her mom and Mrs. Harrington had left again. Holly went with them this time, after a near meltdown at the prospect of being left behind. They were taking the highway to the next exit where a gas station payphone could ring indefinitely for their missing husbands. Nancy knew she should be more concerned about her dad, but instead she just felt guilty about her lack of concern – which, she reminded herself, was not the same thing. In her defense, their dad wasn't particularly close with any of them – Nancy, Mike, Holly, even their mom. He was, at best, aloof and deferred all matters of parenting to his wife, who doted over her children.

His continued absence had at least had the benefit of occupying most of her mom's attention, so Nancy was finally free of her worried stare. Not that Nancy needed to be under watch. She was fully recovered. Even more so, oddly enough. She felt better than ever. So when the water pump's rusted handle broke free of the connecting rod as Joyce was filling a large jug, Nancy was eager to help.

"Can't we fix it?" Steve asked, staring at the jagged edge of the broken rod.

"It's not that simple," Jonathan replied, peering into the shaft of the pump where small flakes of rust were falling. "The rod's connected to a plunger that creates a vacuum. You need the handle attached for the leverage or you'll never generate enough suction to draw the water up." He looked up and found Steve and Nancy staring at him. "It can't just be patched up. The parts have to be replaced," he finished quickly.

Steve pulled his shoulders back and gave Jonathan an appraising look. "Photography and water pumps, huh?" he mocked. "That's your thing?"

" _Steve_ ," Nancy reprimanded.

Jonathan had withdrawn back into his usual stony silence and melancholy expression.

"He's good with mechanics, okay?" Joyce said to Steve. She turned to her son and gave him a proud smile. "Always has been."

"Hey, I think that's great," Steve said, holding out his hands defensively. "Anyone know where we can buy parts?" He let the silence sink in before adding, "Or are we going to start drinking pond water?"

The four of them simultaneously looked at the pond, dotted with lily pads and ringed with neon green algae. "I'd like to avoid giardia, thanks," Nancy replied with a thin smile.

"There's a spring fed water station about a mile away," Jonathan suggested.

Joyce gave him a look that Nancy couldn't quite identify. Was it concern?

"You still remember where that is?" Joyce asked.

Jonathan nodded. "It's on the path," he said, flicking his head toward the exit. "In the other direction. It's pretty hard to miss."

The park's main parking lot had three paths running from it. According to the map posted by the paths' entrances, two led to campgrounds and the other was a three-mile hiking loop. The yellow trail – the one that led to their campsite – was choked with cars from the Hawkins refugees, but Jonathan still managed to find the footpath that broke off of the main trail near the parking lot. Carrying the five-gallon jug his mom had partially filled, he led Steve and Nancy along the dirt path as it wound its way deeper into the woods. In the undergrowth, sunlight filtering green through the treetops, and chipmunks darting across the forest floor, it was easy to forget Hawkins and the campsite full of nervous pacing. Nancy even began to forget about the danger they were fleeing, her near death and the cut that was little more than a tingling scar. But she couldn't reconcile the relaxation of the forest with the tension she felt between Steve and Jonathan. There was a reason they hadn't been friends in school. Their personalities clashed and it was unfair of Nancy to expect them to harmonize for her convenience.

"Your dad was at work when you left Hawkins?" Nancy asked.

Steve titled his head to the side thoughtfully. "I guess."

"You _guess_?" Nancy replied.

"He was supposed to be at the office, but…" Steve looked at Nancy out of the corner of his eye. "No one knows where he is."

Nancy was shocked. "Aren't you worried?"

"I would be," Steve continued, "if his secretary wasn't also missing." He raised his eyebrows at Nancy and said with a bitter smile, "They have a history."

"Oh," Nancy muttered, feeling her cheeks flush.

"Yeah, not exactly husband of the year. Honestly, I doubt my mom's even calling him anymore," Steve admitted. "I think she just likes hanging out with your mom. Kind of a _Laverne and Shirley_ deal."

Jonathan had stopped a few feet in front of them and was kneeling at the side of the path where a large pipe was inexplicably jutting from the bank of a hill along the side of the trail, pouring a steady stream of perfectly clear water.

"This is the middle of nowhere," Nancy said, looking around at the complete lack of signs or notices. It was the most obscure location, aside from the footpath running alongside the spout.

Jonathan was focusing on filling his jug. "It's marked on the map," he said, not taking his eyes off of the stream. "And most campers that come here know about it."

"Yeah, but is it even safe?" Steve asked. Nancy could tell he was thinking about the tepid pond back at the campsite.

Jonathan pulled his jug from under the stream and began screwing on the cap. "It's safe," he replied simply. "It's spring-fed."

Steve threw up his hands exasperatedly. "I don't know what that means, Byers."

"Steve, drop it," Nancy warned. She slid one of her two small water jugs beneath the stream. The water splashed against her hands as she steadied the jug. "It's so cold!" she exclaimed, shaking the icy water from her fingers. She considered what Jonathan had said and asked him, "How did you know this was here?"

Jonathan pressed his lips together. "My dad brought me here when I was a kid." He looked up the path. It continued past the water station, curving around the hill and disappeared into the woods. "To hunt," Jonathan finished, still staring at the winding trail.

Nancy followed his gaze and saw nothing.

"What's up there?" Steve asked, watching Jonathan closely.

Jonathan took a deep breath and turned away from the path. He looked more closed off than before. "Nothing," he said.


	25. Chapter 25

Day Two

Mike

"We're screwed," Dustin announced.

"We're not screwed," Mike argued. "We're just—"

"Out of time," Will finished.

Mike's shoulders drooped. "Yeah, out of time." He looked around at his friends and their defeated expressions. "Well, not quite," he reconsidered. "We have two days."

Dustin looked completely unimpressed. "Two days, Mike?" He exchanged exasperated looks with Will. "Two days to figure out how to get to Hawkins, find Lucas, rescue him and escape, all without being demolished by a Demogorgon army."

The boys were back on the hill, perched on the edge of the shale block and invisible to the remaining campers below. From the vantage point, they could see the animated conversations Steve was having with his mom and Nancy with hers. They could even see Jonathan sulking nearby. Mike had a suspicion he knew why Jonathan was looking extra downcast since the three of them had returned from collecting water. After another unsuccessful attempt to reach his dad, Mike's mom had connected with her aunt who had a large estate in Washington and was willing to host the Wheelers until they could return home. They were leaving first thing Friday morning – less than three days away. The Byers, meanwhile, would be staying in Hopper's cabin until Hawkins was safe again.

"What about your parents?" Mike asked Dustin. "What are their plans? Are you guys going to stay with someone?"

"Are you kidding?" Dustin asked with a big toothless grin. "No way. My parents are in love with Mr. Clarke." He tugged on the brim of his hat and looked down at cabin seven. "I'm serious. My parents are academics; they're into all the same things. They're not leaving unless Mr. Clarke does."

Mike frowned. "At least you guys can stick together," he said, unable to keep the note of jealousy out of his voice. "Even Steve is leaving," he added. Mrs. Harrington had decided to travel with the Wheelers as far as Colorado where she and Steve would stay in their vacation home.

"Who cares about Steve?" Dustin asked.

Mike scowled. "I like Steve," he replied. "He's nice."

"If you say so," Dustin mumbled under his breath.

Before Mike had a chance to respond, Will spoke up. "Let's steal a car."

Dustin and Mike stared at Will, at a complete loss for words. Leaning back casually, Will raised his eyebrows at them, challenging his friends to come up with a better idea.

While Mike gaped wordlessly, Dustin said, "Okay, you've officially gone insane."

"Why?" Will asked.

Mike finally found his voice. "I missed the part where any of us knows how to drive," he pointed out. "That's kind of important if we're planning on stealing a car."

"I know how to drive," Dustin replied, puffing out his chest.

"Bullshit," Mike shot back.

"I drove last fall at the harvest festival," Dustin argued.

Mike rolled his eyes. "Bumper cars don't count!"

"It was go-karts," Dustin retorted. "And yes, they do count." He held his hands up on an invisible steering wheel and tapped his feet on ghost pedals. "Gas, brake, left, right. It's the same basic principle."

Will and Mike looked at each other, weighing their options, each waiting for the other to say something that would decide their next move. It was Will who finally did. "It _is_ kind of the same principle," he agreed. "And we need to act fast, if Lucas might be in the Upside Down."

Mike was hesitant, but he didn't have a better idea. "Who's car are we stealing?" he asked.

Dusting snapped his fingers. "My parents' car. I'll take their keys tonight and tomorrow," he looked slowly from Will to Mike with a determined look on his face, "we get Lucas."


	26. Chapter 26

Day Three

Jonathan

"And get some bug spray. Maybe some citronella candles, too?" Joyce was ticking off fingers as she recited the list. She gave Hopper a playfully annoyed look. "I don't want to keep using all of Scott's supplies."

Across the table, Hopper balked. "I'm _sorry_. I didn't know I'd be having company."

Jonathan jotted down the list on the lined page of a notebook: _bread, peanut butter, jelly, flashlights, crackers, canned soup, bug spray, citronella candles_

"Oh, and we could use some more toothpaste," Joyce added as she rummaged for cash in her purse.

Hopper dropped two twenty-dollar bills on the table in front of Jonathan. "A carton of Camels, more matches and today's paper," he said. He stood up, preparing to head out and help Mr. Clarke chop firewood. At the door, he turned and added, "Go north two exits. There's a shopping center just off the highway." He pulled his hat down and walked out the door.

Jonathan's mom placed another forty dollars in his hand. "Don't be long, okay?"

Jonathan nodded. Outside the cabin, Nancy and Steve were waiting with their own brief shopping lists. "What are you going to do while we're gone?" he asked.

Joyce pressed her lips together and scanned the room. "Rake the ashes and coals out of the stove, figure out Hopper's percolator and brew some coffee, refill the lamps – oh! Can you pick up some more lamp oil?"

The news that Steve and Nancy would be leaving the camp in just a couple days didn't come as a particular shock, especially after Hopper returned from scouting Hawkins and announced that it was indefinitely uninhabitable. Jonathan expected to see most of the evacuees slowly drift out of the park and find temporary housing somewhere else. But a small part of him had believed that he and Nancy wouldn't be separated again after they escaped the monster together. He had no reason to feel that way and had no real explanation of why he did, except that the feeling existed, smoldering deep inside. And the idea that she would be traveling with Steve most of the way to Washington left him feeling unfairly hostile toward Steve. Apparently his misery was shared, as all three of them were unusually reticent, walking to Jonathan's car in silence.

He'd just opened the driver's side door when Jonathan heard hushed voices ahead. A familiar hat, surrounded by curly brown hair was bobbing around the side of the Hendersons' car. Jonathan called out to Dustin, "What are you doing?"

Dustin wasn't the only one who looked up. Suddenly Mike and Will appeared beside him, standing straight and looking nervously over the top of the car.

"I left something in my mom's car," Dustin explained. The three boys were fidgeting guiltily. Jonathan narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his brother. "What are _you_ doing?" Dustin asked, spinning the focus on Jonathan's group.

Jonathan sighed, unwilling to fight the boys. How much trouble could they be getting into? Besides, he had to get to the store. Holding up the grocery list, he replied, "Shopping."

"Can we come?" Will asked immediately.

Jonathan gave him a hesitant look.

"We're bored," Dustin explained.

"And I need batteries," Mike added. "For my Walkie-Talkie."

Jonathan glanced in his car. Steve looked back doubtfully. Behind him, though, Nancy seemed unbothered and even moved over in her seat to make room.


	27. Chapter 27

Day Three

Mike

Nancy was gazing indecisively at a row of juice bottles, bouncing the plastic shopping basket against her leg. "What does Holly like, grape or apple?" she asked.

"I don't know," Mike shook his head. "Apple, I guess. But what about Hawkins?" he asked.

Nancy dropped the bottle of juice in her basket and turned to her brother. "What?" she said absentmindedly.

Mike huffed angrily. "I was asking you about Hawkins. Weren't you listening?"

A few rows over he could hear Will talking to Jonathan, trying to get the same answers from his brother. "What did Hopper say, exactly?" Mike continued. "Was it the Department of Energy that was there? Were they just blocking the highway ramp? Did Hopper try to go a different way?"

Nancy was watching him, looking nonplussed as his questions tumbled out. "Mike, what is going on?" Then she stopped in the middle of the aisle and her face dropped. "It's Dad, isn't it?" she asked. "You're wondering if they found him."

"No, it's not—" Mike stopped himself. Maybe it was better if she thought he was talking about their dad. He turned as Will and Jonathan looped into their aisle. In their basket Mike saw pretzels, tomato soup, oatmeal, matches and a couple loaves of bread.

"Do you think anyone's still there?" Will was asking.

"I don't know, buddy," Jonathan responded.

He and Nancy stared at each other awkwardly from opposite ends of the aisle until Mike broke the silence. "Are we done?" he asked.

The Ford's trunk already had a couple paper bags full of lamp oil, candles, bug spray, cigarettes, batteries, two flashlights and a newspaper. They tucked the groceries in next to the other supplies and squeezed back into the car. Inside, there was an uncomfortable silence that seemed to carry from the awkward moment in the grocery store. Mike glanced from Steve to Jonathan to Nancy. All three were staring resolutely forward, acknowledging neither each other nor the younger three boys. Mike tried to remember if the ride to the store was this tense, but he'd been so concerned about getting information from Nancy about Hawkins, he hadn't been paying attention.

"Um, what are we doing?" Dustin's voice brought Mike back to the present. He didn't realize that they'd been idling at the parking lot's exit for a couple minutes. Now that he looked around, he realized that Jonathan had pulled up to the road and stopped despite the complete lack of traffic. After another moment's hesitation, Jonathan turned left, heading east.

"Byers, the highway is back that way," Steve said, jabbing his thumb in the opposite direction.

"I know," Jonathan replied. Next to Mike, Nancy straightened up in her seat.

Steve gave Jonathan a wide-eyed stare. "So where are we going?" he asked.

Jonathan glanced at his brother in the rearview mirror and replied, calmly, "Hawkins."


	28. Chapter 28

Day Three

Nancy

Steve was raging between disbelief and fury. "What do you mean _Hawkins_?" he demanded. "You can't be serious. The whole city is closed off."

Jonathan didn't take his eyes off the road. "I know a back route, by the quarry," he said quietly. "It might be blocked." He glanced in the rearview mirror again, this time at Nancy. "Or it might not."

Next to her, the younger boys were practically buzzing with excitement. Nancy realized suddenly that Mike may not have been talking about their dad earlier. Without Lucas, their group was incomplete. And if even she considered them incomplete without him, how did they consider themselves? They wanted to go back to Hawkins. They'd wanted it this whole time.

"But you _know_ what's in Hawkins," Steve was growling. He spun around in his seat, scanning the other passengers. "We all know what's in Hawkins. Turn around, Byers."

"No!" the three boys yelled at once.

"It'll be fine," Dustin said calmly, trying to smooth over their excitement.

"This is insane," Steve muttered to himself, sinking back into his seat. "This is insane."

Jonathan pulled off the state route after a few miles and they began the winding trip south, curling through dirt roads and flat stretches of fields and pastures. The sharp odor of manure wafted in the car as they passed a paddock filled with spotted cows bathing in the midday sun. Every so often, Nany caught Jonathan's steely gaze in the mirror. She had a feeling he was nervous about returning to Hawkins with her, so the next time his eyes flicked to the back seat, she gave him a reassuring smile.

As they neared Hawkins, they all strained to hear the sirens out of their open windows. But the only sounds were the wind, cutting through the trees, and pavement chips clicking against the wheel wells. Mike was hastily stuffing batteries into his Walkie-Talkie next to Nancy. He flipped the channel to six and called, "Lucas, come in, Lucas. Over."

Dustin was shaking his head. "We're still too far away," he said. "Lucas' house is miles out."

Mike looked across the seat. "Who says he's still at his house?" he asked.

Jonathan slowed a little as the road changed from tar and chips to gravel and, finally, dirt. He wove his way expertly around the potholes that had been steadily growing for years until the road was full of deep craters. Overhead, a tent of tree branches had spread over the single-lane road, creating a natural tunnel. There were no houses or buildings and they hadn't seen another car on the road for miles. Then, as they peaked a hill, the tree branches receded and Hawkins materialized.

Steve was the first to speak. "Oh, _shit_ ," he whispered as Jonathan abruptly stopped the car.

Nancy stared through the windshield, unable to grasp what she was looking at until little pieces of reality chipped away at her disbelief: the construction sign for the Sattler Company; the tire ruts leading traffic away from the quarry cliff; the police tape, torn in half and trailing motionless across the road; a white van with "Hawkins Power and Light" stenciled in blue along its side, its front end crushed, pinning a brown sedan against a light post.

And everything—from the quarry pit to the car wreck—was blanketed in a layer of colorless shadow. For miles ahead, until the distance was swallowed in darkness, the shadow extended. It enveloped the entire city and scorched the sky. Black roots, like tendrils, crisscrossed every surface and, caught in a slow descent, flakes like ashes settled from above.

The edge of the darkness began mere feet in front of Jonathan's car, like a veil splitting their world from the nightmare that was consuming Hawkins. The barrier undulated faintly and rose from the ground to the sky and stretched indefinitely east and west, separating the two planes of existence. Nancy's fingers numbly unfastened her seatbelt. She was vaguely aware of Dustin, somewhere to her left, whispering breathlessly, "Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my…"

Without looking away from the shadowy world in front of them, Nancy found the handle and opened her door, stepping outside in a wordless trance. The sun, still shining fiercely on their side of the veil, beat down as she stood with her hands clutching the door's frame. Except for the slow fall of ash, there was no movement in the shadows, just a cold desolation. It was horrifyingly familiar, a nightmarish memory coming back to life. As the other doors opened and everyone slowly climbed out of the car, Nancy said, almost inaudibly, "The Upside Down."

Dustin's litany had finally ceased, but in the silence, he recited, "The Vale of Shadows is a dimension that is a dark reflection, or echo, of our world. It is a place of decay and death, a plane out of phase, a place of monsters. It is right next to you and you do not even see it."

His words sent a chill through Nancy, but she still couldn't take her eyes off of the brim of shadow.

"I think we can all see it," Mike breathed.

Jonathan was the first to start forward. Before he reached the barrier, Steve yelled out, "What are you doing?" His eyes were wide and alarmed. "Are you crazy? We need to get out of here."

Will chimed in, "Jonathan." His brother turned. "It's not safe," Will pleaded.

"I'll be fine," Jonathan promised. "I won't even leave your sight." He pointed at Will. "Stay there."

"Jonathan, wait," Nancy called. She closed her door and made for the barrier.

Steve instinctively grabbed her arm as she passed him. "You're not going in there," he said solemnly.

Nancy shook her arm free, annoyed at Steve's overprotection. Always he insisted on being her knight in shining armor. "I've already _been_ in there," she replied flatly. She approached the barrier and stood at Jonathan's side, staring into the vale. Their feet were inches from the ethereal membrane that separated their worlds. Nancy looked at Jonathan and nodded. He took her hand and together they stepped forward. For an instant, each of them had one foot in each world; then they passed through the border and stood together in the Upside Down.

The temperature dropped and the sun vanished. Instead, a pale violet glow emanated faintly from the earth itself, reflecting in the flakes that were suspended in the air around them. Nancy released Jonathan's hand and turned to look back the way they came. The barrier rippled hypnotically, showing a slightly warped version of Jonathan's car. Will was watching them with big, frightened eyes and Steve, still leaning against the passenger side door, looked indignant. The other two boys had moved closer to the barrier, standing in front of the Ford's bumper. Mike mouthed something to Nancy, but his words were muted.

Nancy motioned for him to stay and turned back around, taking a few steps deeper. The earth beneath her feet felt less solid somehow; it felt softer and more organic. She took care to step over the winding roots that glistened as she passed. Behind her, Jonathan was hunched over, examining the strip of police tape. His smallest movement echoed in the stagnant air. She made her way over to the sedan that was pinched between the light pole and van. The windshield and driver's side window were shattered, leaving crumbled bits of glass across the hood. Inside, Nancy's eyes drifted across the vinyl seat, pausing at the purse lying on its side, contents sprayed across the floor. Then she saw something that made her go cold. "Jonathan?" she cried out, not looking away from the black puddle on the dashboard, the smear on the steering wheel and lines dripping into the car's stereo. "Jonathan?" she cried again.

"Yeah?" he responded. She could hear him rushing over to her.

She turned quickly. "There's blood," she said.

"Blood?" came Mike's voice.

Nancy looked up to see that her brother and Dustin had crossed the barrier. "Get out of here!" she cried. Neither listened to her. Dustin's jaw was hanging open in awe and Mike was moving further into the vale, looking around, half terrified and half curious.

"It _is_ blood," Jonathan confirmed. He was standing next to her, looking in the car with a concerned expression. They glanced at each other and Jonathan nodded. They didn't need to point out the obvious: the driver was missing. "We need to get out of here," he whispered urgently. He tipped his head toward the car. And that's when Nancy realized what it meant to be standing next to a puddle of blood. They were in danger.

"Come on," she said firmly to the younger boys. "We're leaving _now_."

Mike seemed to register the necessity in her voice, then turned suddenly, cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted into the shadowland, "Lucas!"

"Mike, shut up!" Nancy hissed.

"Lucas!" he cried again. Then Dustin joined him, his voice cracking as he shouted his friend's name into fathomless darkness.

To her right, Nancy thought she heard a rustling, like an animal moving across loose dirt. Her heart began hammering and panic swelled. To her left, Jonathan took a step forward. Catching his toe on one of the roots, he lost his balance and landed heavily with a pained grunt. Frantically, Nancy knelt and reached out to help him up. "Are you okay?" she asked. She tried to listen for the footsteps in the darkness, but the boys' cries for Lucas were drowning out every other noise.

Jonathan rolled to his side, clutching his hand. Maybe he'd sprained it, or broken it? "We have to go," Nancy urged him. When he pulled his hands apart, Nancy saw the laceration across the palm of his left hand. He'd landed on a piece of metal from the car wreckage. Now blood wept from the wound, dotting the ground and streaming down his arm.

Nancy's breath caught in her throat.

In between the boys' cries, a distant thumping, like a gallop, echoed chillingly. Mike dropped his hands from his mouth and turned to Nancy, his lip twitching. "What was that?" he asked.

"Run!" Jonathan screamed. His hand was clamped around Nancy's wrist and he was up and running, tearing over the roots and dragging her back through the barrier. "Go go go!" he cried as Mike and Dustin broke through the veil, kicking up dirt and stones as they flew to the Ford.

The doors weren't even closed before Jonathan was spinning the car back around and tearing up the dirt road, away from Hawkins. "What happened?" Steve was asking, frantically. He and Will looked equally terrified and lost. "There's blood," Steve said. "Byers, you're _bleeding_! What the fuck happened?"

No one answered him while they careened across the potholes and loose gravel. Jonathan, Nancy, Mike and Dustin gasped and panted as they drove, unable to say what happened and unwilling to believe it. Jonathan's left hand was crumpled into a fist, pressed on top of the steering wheel. Droplets of blood seeped out between his clenched fingers and dripped, every few seconds, onto the floor.


	29. Chapter 29

Day Three

Dustin

The car was filled with a stunned silence. From below his feet, the road hummed lifelessly. Before them, an unremarkable stretch of asphalt extended. All four windows were rolled down and his hat, which fluttered dangerously in the crossing breeze, was now pinched tightly between his knees. After gulping air for nearly ten minutes, he'd finally caught his breath and was motionless in his seat, except for the uncontrollable twitching of his jaw – a muscle spasm he attributed to the fading panic. Squeezed next to him, Will was calm and reserved, but Dustin was astonished that Will had spent a week in the Upside Down. It inspired hope in him that Lucas was still alive. And it instilled in him the conviction he needed to return for Lucas.

"How's your hand?" Nancy asked.

From the passenger seat, Jonathan turned halfway, his eyes cast down. "Better," he said, nodding. A strip of plaid flannel was wrapped around his palm as a makeshift bandage. The cut wasn't bleeding freely anymore, but Dustin still shuddered when he saw the streaks and rivulets of dried blood caked in his knuckles and under his fingernails, and smeared across his forearm.

A sign for River Valley passed and Steve steered them into the right lane, watching for their exit. He hadn't uttered a word since they'd pulled off the road earlier to switch drivers and bind Jonathan's hand. But at the stop he'd pulled Jonathan aside and, from what Dustin could tell, they'd had a heated discussion. He assumed it had something to do with Nancy since both of them kept glancing back at her, but she didn't acknowledge the looks until Steve's voice raised, "You messed up, Byers," and he shoved Jonathan back with an open-handed strike to his chest.

"Steve!" Nancy shouted. She slid off of the Ford's hood and marched over angrily.

Dustin rolled his eyes and climbed back into the car, muttering to Mike, "Frigging teenagers."

In the road, Jonathan assured, "It's okay, Nancy," as she stomped up to them. He gave his eyebrows a shrug and headed back to the car. Steve asked Nancy a question, touching her arm apologetically, but she shook him off and stormed away. The rest of the car ride had been similarly tense, with the reality of Hawkins transforming into the Vale of Shadows and the apparent inability of them to act together without collapsing.

Moments after Steve pulled off of the highway, they saw the cars that overflowed the parking lot and lined the road to River Valley. Trucks were pulled up on the lawn and an RV was blocking three cars. "What is this?" Steve mumbled to himself.

Jonathan pointed ahead. "Try the path," he suggested. Steve ramped the Ford onto the dirt walkway and crawled along past a line of vehicles. The number had at least tripled since they'd left that morning. As they passed a small, blue hatchback, Jonathan said, "That's Donald's car." He looked around at the puzzled expressions. "My mom's boss," he explained.

Miraculously, the spot in front of Dustin's parent's car was still open. When they got out of the Ford, Dustin held Mike and Will back a little, letting the other three gain some distance. He lowered his voice and asked, "Now we know what we're getting into. Do you still want to go back for Lucas?"

"Definitely," Mike replied immediately. "He'd go back for us."

Will walked alongside them with his head hanging and his brow drawn thoughtfully. Of everyone, he had the most say in what their next move would be. He'd spent the most time in the Upside Down. He knew, firsthand, the danger they were facing. Finally he lifted his head and turned to them with a little nod. His face broke into a smile and his eyes shone brightly. "Let's do it," he said.

"All right!" Dustin laughed, clapping his hands together. "I still have my parents' keys." He patted his jeans pocket. "And we have one more day before Mike leaves, so we go back tomorrow."

The three grinned and slapped each other on the back, excited and anxious about the adventure, before the path ended and they were standing in a packed camping site. At least fifty to sixty people were milling around the cabins and pond. A few were setting up tents. Most of the rest were lugging suitcases, coolers or backpacks. In the middle of a crowd, Dustin recognized the sharp features of a young boy.

"Is that Troy?" he asked. "What's that asshole doing here? I am _not_ sharing a cabin with him."

"Shh," Mike shushed him, holding his hand up. He pointed silently toward a small cluster of people standing next to the chief's Blazer. Dustin stood on his tiptoes to get a better look and identified Hopper, Officer Powell, Mr. Clarke and Mrs. Byers. He crouched and waved the other two boys in the direction of the Blazer. They crept around the edge of the crowd, staying out of site, until they were on the other side of the truck. Sitting down in the grass, the three of them pricked up their ears and eavesdropped.

"About twenty-five left after the first night," Powell was saying. "There's forty-two left. Most were just waiting for the all-clear."

"It's not happening," Hopper replied. "I talked to the suits guarding the Hawkins ramp a couple days ago. The evacuation isn't letting up any time soon. If these people have anywhere else they can go for the next week or so…"

"'Or so'?" Powell asked.

Hopper replied coldly, "Yeah, 'or so.' I don't know how long, okay?"

"Look, Chief," Powell began calmly. "I'm just trying to get a handle on all of this. First you have us evacuate the city for a radiation leak that we both know is bullshit, then the army or feds or _whatever_ invades Hawkins and quarantines the whole damn city. And if that isn't enough, they come down to Chambersburg not three days later, telling me the area isn't safe anymore and I've got to move forty people north to this middle-of-goddamn-nowhere campsite. And then when I get here, you start talking about boogie monsters. So pardon me if I'm a little confused."

Dustin heard a sharp exhale of breath and he could imagine the chief's exasperated expression as his officer challenged him.

"I'm actually a little confused also," Mr. Clarke's voice added, "vis-à-vis this monster."

"Monsters," Hopper replied shortly. "Plural."

"Right," Powell said, disbelief ringing in his voice. "Monsters."

Hopper sighed again. "Creatures, then. Whatever you want to call them. All I know is the government had a hand in creating them or releasing them. For all I know, they're failed science experiments – a synthetic superhuman gone rogue." He paused and shifted his feet impatiently. "This is real. This is happening."

"Okay," Powell conceded. "What's the plan?"

"Like I said," Hopper repeated. "If any of these guys have somewhere they can go for an extended stay, get them out of here. Give them one of these business cards. They can call the number for an update on Hawkins. Some government official will answer. But don't – I repeat, _do not_ indicate anything is going on outside of a radiation leak. You understand? I don't want a panic on my hands. Mention anything about monsters or government-created human weapons and you're going to incite a riot."

"I got it, Chief," Powell responded.

"Scott?" Hopper asked.

Mr. Clarke replied quickly, "Oh, I won't say anything. And if you need help, I'm happy to lend a hand wherever possible."

"Thanks," came Hopper's abrupt response.

After a moment of silence, footsteps receded into the crowd. Another lapse of silence passed, then Mrs. Byers asked, "Why would they evacuate Chambersburg too?"

A third sigh from Hopper. "Chambersburg is, what, ten, fifteen miles south of Hawkins?"

"Yeah, about that," Joyce replied.

"I think the monsters are moving," Hopper said darkly. "They're hunting." His voice dropped to just above a whisper. "And they're expanding their territory."

The conversation ended and in the lull afterward, the voices of the camp's new inhabitants buzzed all around them in an incoherent drone. Dustin turned to look at Mike and Will, reflecting their fear and doubt. The three wordlessly wondered how long before the shadow reached them.

* * *

A/N: Thank you, everyone, for your continued support and your faves, feedback and follows! It's a wonderful motivator to keep writing. And this story is rapidly reaching a dramatic end!


	30. Chapter 30

The Harvest and the Slaughter

Hawkins, as it was—a small, bright town with a simple history and close community—was gone. First the creatures appeared, rending tears between dimensions and, bit by bit, inviting the shadow to creep into the world. It came hesitantly, shuddering wafts of depth and darkness into the light; then it inflated, engulfing the trees, the wildlife, crushing over neighborhoods like a black, oily flood, consuming light, saturation and brilliance. In the center of the darkness, the gateway stood deep underground in the lab, pulsing a heartbeat, like the living core of the nightmarish shadow. And from its quivering arch poured the creatures, predators of the Vale, expanding their territory and on the hunt.

Hawkins was gone. It had been smothered by an ancient decay and dark, colorless void. The ones who didn't leave—and there were plenty who refused, who didn't believe the danger, who were too infirm to make the trek—were left in the wake of utter desolation.

First came the slaughter. The creatures fell on the weak, the ones clinging to their IV lines in hospital beds, waking to the flickering fluorescence in their sterile gowns and plunged into cascading darkness of their city; the ones too old to bother finding their keys and opting instead to settle in the comfort of routine until decimation struck its fatal blow; the broken ones, injured in their escape and unable to run; the simple ones, who didn't understand their fate. The creatures rained down on them in a primal fury. Like a feeding frenzy, they butchered their prey and the silence that followed was more deafening than the screams.

Next came the harvest. The creatures plucked away the living, dragged them from their hiding places into the heart of darkness. They gathered the ones who were strong, who fought back, who shrieked and succumbed. They pulled them by their ankles, leaving furrows in the dirt and blood streaks on the ground. They took children, trembling under their beds and clinging to their mothers. They pulled out the ones hiding in trees and basements, wrenched them from the backs of closets and locked cars. They broke bones and skin and, sometimes, aroused by the irresistible scent of fresh blood, they killed their harvest.

For days it continued, until almost every last person had been slaughtered or harvested. The screams were gone. The bitter whimpers of the dying and the hidden were gone. Movement was gone. The Vale was thick with death and silence. And everywhere were the artifacts of vanished life: a hubcap nestled in the weeds along the edge of a sharp turn on a side road; a can of Coke-a-Cola, half full still, sitting on a table outside of a diner; a teddy bear abandoned in the middle of the road; a velvet, high-heeled shoe and string of pearls resting on a manhole cover; a yellow slingshot attached to a wrist brace, lying on the forest floor, feet from the open mouth of a large drain pipe.

And in its cavernous depths, a young boy with dark skin spent his third day alive.


	31. Chapter 31

A/N: Sorry for the delay posting this! The holiday season is very busy for me at work, so my updates may be less frequent, but I'm still writing! Thanks for following and watching for new updates, despite my tardiness!

* * *

Lucas

His eyes, crescents in the swollen skin around them, stung horribly. Yet another tear managed to leak out of the corner. How he still had tears left to cry, he didn't know. After days of silent weeping. And the fever. He squeezed his eyes shut, but it changed nothing. He was blind in the pipe, its darkness utter and complete. Or maybe he was truly blind. Trauma, injury, these things could cause blindness.

 _Maybe I'm just dead_ , he thought.

His mind had gone to a dark place—darker than the shadows that held him while he slept and while he wept. More than once he'd considered leaving the pipe, giving himself to the Demogorgons and ending it all. But the memories resurfaced and Lucas couldn't move for the paralyzing fear that accompanied them: his parents' death, their _evisceration_ in front of his eyes, and the Demogorgon's claws—still wet with his parents' blood—raking across his face and splitting the skin.

That was the death he'd get if he left the pipe and he couldn't bring himself to face it. He'd chosen to die in the blind gloom within, starving or dehydrating. It didn't matter which. Both had to be coming soon. Another tear unexpectedly leaked out of the corner of his eye and trickled along the edge of his nose before touching the calloused edge of a glossy pink scar—one of two that ran parallel to each other and stretched from his right eye to his left jaw.

He didn't know how he survived. He didn't remember anything. The strike that slashed his face had also knocked him unconscious. When he woke, he found himself in Mirkwood, at the end of a groove of dead leaves, as if he'd been dragged there. The fever was already raging, so he half-crawled, half-dragged himself into the drainage pipe where he collapsed into a delirious sleep. The next time he woke, the darkness had fallen completely. He was lying in a puddle of his own vomit and his mouth tasted like blood. When he touched his face, he felt the eerily smooth ridges of scars instead of the scabbed cut he'd expected.

He'd spent two days unconscious, but time was an anomaly to him. Day and night were black and cold alike. His tongue was swollen and rough and his head throbbed, but the pipe had no water running through it and he couldn't risk leaving. So he wept and waited for death.

That third day was unbearably silent. There were no screams, no shrieking tires or footsteps. A stark calm had fallen over the Vale. Lucas was hunched into his own knees, shuddering against the cold in little, weak bursts. The trembling breaths that he took were shallow, but still they echoed around him. As that second tear fell, he thought he could hear it strike the metal below. But the sound didn't stop. The little _tick_ echoed, spiraling through the pipe. Then another sounded, followed by a faint rustling and something that made Lucas' blood go cold—inhuman panting. Something was outside, sniffing in quick bursts, tracking him. He heard the leaves shuffling, the breathing growing closer. For a moment he thought of the wrist rocket, but he'd lost it somewhere in Mirkwood. And, he thought to himself, it was childish to imagine that a slingshot was any sort of weapon against a Demogorgon. He'd learned that last year when the rocks he'd so desperately flung at the monster had barely registered in its slow, deliberate movements.

The huffing outside became louder and stronger; footsteps crossed overhead. For a fleeting instant, Lucas wished Eleven was still there to fling the Demogorgon with her mind and disintegrate it into oblivion. But Eleven was gone. So was everyone else. Lucas was alone, waiting for death. And now death had come. He pulled his knees closer to his chest as the panting suddenly entered the pipe. His eyes were shut, willing the final moments to be fast and painless.

But the end didn't come.

The panting became a quick snuffling. There was something familiar in the sound, something comforting. Lucas turned his head and strained to see through the darkness. A shape was standing in the mouth of the pipe; its silhouette was cloudy and murky. Then, after a short _snuff_ , the creature exhaled a mournful whine. Lucas' heart leapt. A dog. It was a dog!

He found strength that he didn't know he still had and crawled frantically to the mouth of the pipe where a familiar, wire-haired mutt was eagerly waiting. Lucas wrapped his arms around the dog and stifled a sob. It was Will's dog. The last living vestiges of the Hawkins wasteland had found each other and as Lucas buried his face into the dog's warm chest, he vowed that together they could escape the Vale.

After a few minutes, Lucas stood up. It wasn't easy. He'd been folded in the pipe for days and his muscles were tight and his joints popped painfully. "I don't even remember your name," Lucas said into the dark chill. His voice was rough and foreign to him. He cleared his throat twice and patted the dog on the head. Lucas tried to remember his name, but his mind was foggy and the strain caused a wave of pain to radiate from his temples. He groaned and whispered, "Maybe for now I'll just call you… _Orcus_." He smiled to himself. "Foe of the Demogorgon," he mumbled, stepping forward.

* * *

Benny's Diner had only been reopened for a couple months. It took a little while for someone to finally buy it after Benny's death, but, with a loyal customer base, there wasn't really much risk involved. The new owners—Lucas couldn't remember the couple's name—didn't rebrand the place, so it remained _Benny's Diner_.

Fortunately the evacuation was enough of a scare that the owners forgot to lock up when they took off. Lucas leaned into the back door and let Orcus in before following the dog into the kitchen. Most everything was covered in a thin, slick membrane, but Lucas had a hunch that anything in an airtight package might be safe to eat. He peered through the rows of boxes on the pantry shelf and reached out when he spotted a package of Nilla Wafers. As he tore open the bag, his thoughts wandered to his friends. Will, Mike and Dustin. He'd thought about them often. Had they escaped? Was there a place to escape? Maybe the Demogorgons had already consumed the world. Maybe he was all that was left.

His mouth watered as he stuffed a handful of the cookies in his mouth, and he coughed when the sweet crumbs tickled his throat. Orcus stood next to him, begging pitifully. Lucas held out a mound of wafers, letting the dog wolf them down voraciously, while he scanned the shelf again for a drink. On the top shelf he spotted a row of red Coca-Cola cans. He planted his toes on the second shelf and reached up, batting a couple cans down. When he cracked one open, the fizz poured over the lip of the can and Orcus lapped at the drops as they fell to the floor.

Lucas carried the soda and cookies to the dining room, leaning against the bar and gazing out the front windows as he ate. Outside, the world was unrecognizable. Against the black trees and black shadows and black clouds, little gray spores wafted in the stagnant air and everywhere an otherworldly violet light glowed dimly.

Lucas fed Orcus another handful of cookies and emptied the bag's crumbs into his own mouth. He drained the Coke and left the empty can on the bar before approaching the front end of the diner. Orcus was at his heels, hopeful and attentive. Lucas sank his knees into the soft vinyl of a red booth seat and peered out the front window. The road was abandoned. Black trees lined the pavement, motionless in the dead air. The silence that surrounded them was overwhelming and echoing, like they were submerged in water. Even Lucas' own breathing sounded muffled and distant. His eyes fell on the single car that was left in the diner's lot. It was an old beige sedan. The driver's side door was ajar. But no one was inside. The car was just another empty husk. His eyes drifted to the passenger side, to the pavement next to the door, and his heart skipped a beat. There, lying in the middle of the parking lot was a bike. Lucas scooted forward on the bench and pressed his forehead against the window. There were plastic tassels dangling from the handles and the banana seat was striped pink and purple. It was a girl's bike. But a _bike_!

Lucas' breathing had picked up. He tightened his hands into a fist and reached into his pocket, fishing out a strip of camouflage fabric. He hastily tied it around his forehead and clenched his jaw. Turning to Orcus, he nodded firmly. "Let's do this," he said, flinging open the front door and marching back into hell.


	32. Chapter 32

Day 4

Nancy

"We're going to leave first thing in the morning, so I want you all packed up and ready to go," her mom was saying. She was helping Holly scoop a few toys into an open suitcase—the only suitcase left to load into the station wagon.

"It's already done," Nancy replied. She scratched her head and frowned when the hair she touched moved in oily clumps. "I need a shower," she moaned. With a quick sweep of her hands, she pulled her hair into a tight pony tail.

"We all do," he mom replied, patting Holly on the head. Red rings circled her mom's eyes and dark, heavy creases had formed along her concerned brow. The corners of her mouth hung low and her hair was limp and tangled. Nancy felt a sudden pang of guilt. The evacuation was hard enough on her mom, but the continued absence of Nancy's dad was wearing her nerves raw. Nancy moved forward and caught her mom in an unexpected hug. After a moment's surprise, Karen leaned in and embraced Nancy, letting out a heavy, shuddering sigh.

"You okay?" Nancy asked. Her mom's muffled laugh was the only answer she could muster. Holly, watching curiously, walked around the suitcase and silently wrapped her arms around their legs, her little fingers squeezing Nancy's thigh. They stayed like that until a tap at the cabin's door broke them apart.

Karen hastily wiped her eyes as Nancy opened the door. On the front steps Jonathan stood holding an empty five-gallon water jug. It was the same container he'd filled a couple days earlier. He held it up in his right hand—his left wrapped in white gauze and medical tape. "I'm going for a refill," he explained. His eyes flitted over her shoulder to where her mom and Holly were back to packing. "Thought you might like to go for a walk?" he asked.

Nancy looked back and caught the simple smile on her mom's lips. "Go ahead," she said. "We've got things under control here." Holly nodded.

"We won't be long," Nancy said as she stepped outside and quietly shut the door behind her.

They began weaving through the campsite, dodging tents and groups of people crowded around newspapers or maps. Most newcomers seemed to be trying to plan living arrangements with friends and family outside of Indiana. But so far, no one else had left.

"How are your mom and sister doing?" Jonathan asked. They turned toward the path entrance and Nancy glanced over her shoulder before they entered the woods. Near the pavilion, she saw Steve watching them with a pained look on his face. She had a suspicion he'd been watching since Jonathan knocked on the cabin's door.

"They're in shock, I think," Nancy replied, turning away from Steve and following Jonathan into the woods. "But they'll be okay."

"They're looking forward to leaving tomorrow, aren't they?" Jonathan asked. He looked over at Nancy and led her in between a couple cars parked along the path.

"Yeah," Nancy replied. Her voice sounded hollow. "They are." She stepped off the main path and continued alongside Jonathan up the narrow walkway that led to the water pipe.

Jonathan must have detected the emptiness in her voice, because he stated, rather than asked, "But not you."

Nancy let out a low sigh and looked at the ground. After a few steps she replied, "I don't know what to think." She didn't look up from the ground, preferring to stare at the half-buried rocks and yellow leaves that marked their path, until Jonathan spoke up again.

"It's good, you know?" he said. Nancy looked at him, confused. "Just, I mean…" he tripped over his words. "It's safer, I think, for you to get away from Indiana. After what we saw in Hawkins." He turned to her with a sincere expression and arresting dark eyes.

Something about the exchange left Nancy feeling defeated and hopeless. It didn't take long for her to place the sadness. "What about you?" she asked, then added quickly, "Your family?" They'd arrived at the water pipe and Jonathan was silently unscrewing the top of the jug. "Will you go to Indianapolis?" Nancy asked him. "That's where your dad is, right?"

Jonathan didn't reply. The only sound was the echoing slosh of the water as it slowly filled the plastic jug. Nancy stopped expecting a response and closed her eyes, lulled by the stream's steady note, and tried to keep her mind from wandering to Hawkins and the Vale. When the splashing stopped, she opened her eyes to see Jonathan screwing the lid back on. He knelt next to the jug for a minute, staring straight ahead as if considering something. Finally, he turned to Nancy, "Can I show you something?" Nancy looked back at him without responding. She narrowed her eyes curiously. Jonathan nodded up the path. "It's a couple miles further. It'll take another hour," he said, turning back to Nancy, "at least."

Nancy's curiosity was piqued. She remembered how Jonathan had batted away Steve's question last time they were here, when Jonathan kept looking up the path at some mystery deeper in the woods. She nodded. "Okay," she agreed.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Jonathan still didn't seem willing to let on where exactly they were going, but the melancholy look he got whenever Nancy asked him left her certain it wasn't something pleasant. She stopped pestering him then and treated the trek like a much-needed break. Though, it might not be incredibly relaxing if the weather got much worse. Dark thunderheads head been threatening all morning and now the clouds were gradually rolling overhead, darkening their already shaded path.

"How's your hand?" she asked.

Jonathan held up his palm and wriggled his fingers. "On the mend," he said with a smile. The white gauze wrapped around the cut was spotless, so at least he wasn't bleeding anymore. Jonathan dropped his hand, but kept his eyes on Nancy. "I'm sorry about that," he said. "Going back to Hawkins—it was stupid." Nancy smiled to herself and Jonathan added, "And dangerous."

At that Nancy laughed out loud. "It's not the first time," she said, grinning mischievously. "We get into trouble when we're together."

"Yes," Jonathan agreed, smiling broadly. "Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers: the dangerous duo."

They laughed lightly for a minute and as the laughter died, the first few raindrops began to fall. "So, are we headed for trouble now?" Nancy asked, ignoring the droplets that occasionally dotted her shoulders and the top of her head.

Jonathan caught her in a deep gaze that made her falter. She brushed the raindrops from her forehead and wished her cheeks would stop suddenly burning. "It's not trouble, really," Jonathan replied. He was looking straight ahead now and Nancy followed his eyes to a dark structure hidden behind a copse of maple saplings. He stopped in the path, letting the rain run from his hairline down his neck and blot the neck of his shirt. "It's just my past," he said before continuing forward.

They moved in silence, following the path along its slow curve and the structure's outline became clearer as they approached. It was another cabin, smaller than the ones at the campsite, and cruder. The roof was sloped and covered in mounds of pine needles and pillowy moss. Patches of shingles were missing in some spots, exposing moldy plywood. The walls of the cabin were great logs painted a rusty red and in between each, like organic mortar, neon green and yellow moss grew. Hanging above the front door, like a macabre welcome sign, was a bleached deer skull.

Nancy stopped in her tracks when she spotted it. Jonathan groaned under his breath and walked up to the threshold, glaring at the skull. He jumped and smacked at it, knocking it off of the rusted nail that held it in place. Giving Nancy an apologetic glance, Jonathan grabbed the skull and tossed it into the woods.

"What is this?" she asked. A thin rivulet of rainwater was trickling over her temple and down her jaw. She shivered—whether because of the rain or because of the skull, she wasn't sure.

"This," Jonathan said, standing back and looking at the cabin wearily, "is my dad's camp." He smiled ruefully at her and explained, "My dad brought me here a few times, back when he wanted to be more… _involved_." Jonathan walked over to the front door and kicked at the leaves and pine needles plastered to the cement porch. After shuffling his shoe back and forth a few times, a deteriorating jute welcome mat flipped up with the layers of compost. Jonathan bent down and picked up a house key from under a corner of the mat.

The inside of the cabin wasn't much more impressive, but at least it was dry. And, as Nancy scanned the room, there were no more skeletons. In fact, there wasn't much of anything, really. At the back of the main room, there was a fireplace and, through an open doorway, Nancy spotted a bunkbed in the only other room. Aside from a tall, rusted metal cabinet in the corner, the bunkbed appeared to be the only furniture in the entire cabin.

"I guess he hasn't been here in a while," Jonathan said from the doorway. His voice echoed off of the bare walls. A sudden gust of wind lashed rain against the windows, washing away a layer of grime from the glass.

Nancy approached the closest window and wiped a circle of dust off of the pane with her palm. Outside, the sky was low and heavy, and the woods were dark with the storm's onslaught. They'd just missed getting caught in the deluge. "What did you do when he brought you here?" she asked. In the little circle she'd rubbed clean, she could barely make out Jonathan's reflection behind her.

"Fished… Hunted…" Jonathan said. "Well, he did most of it. And he drank a lot." He closed the door and in the sudden darkness, his reflection disappeared from the window. Nancy turned to face him. "He taught me how to shoot a gun, too," Jonathan added. He walked over to the metal cabinet and pulled the rusted door open. In the low light, Nancy saw his shoulders drop. She followed him and peered over his shoulder. The cabinet was empty.

"He used to keep a shotgun in here," he said. "Not that I should be surprised," he continued, turning away from the cabinet and surveying the room. "Obviously he cleared this place out." Still, he couldn't hide his disappointment.

Nancy placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay," she reassured him. "I actually prefer you with a baseball bat." She smiled, biting back a laugh.

Jonathan's disappointment was quickly replaced with a wide grin. "Afraid I'm all out of bats at the moment, too," he joked.

Outside the storm continued and a clap of thunder rolled overhead. Nancy's smile faded as she considered Jonathan's bat—the broken handle he'd tossed on the side of the road after rescuing her from the monster. Her heart leapt as she remembered him charging through the forest, wielding that bat. At the time, she'd thought he was a hallucination.

"Jonathan?" she asked. She suddenly realized that her hand was still resting on his shoulder. Beneath her fingers, his shirt was damp from the rain. "How did you find me in the woods? When we were in Hawkins and that thing was chasing me…"

Jonathan shook his head, but didn't look away. "I didn't, at first," he whispered.

"You saved my life," Nancy said.

"I took too long," he replied shakily. She knew he was referring to her scar. "I'm sorry." In that moment, he sounded so wounded, it left Nancy feeling weak. She squeezed his shoulder and with her other hand, held his face as she pressed her lips against his.


	33. Chapter 33

Day 4

Dustin

The Hendersons' car was parked exactly where it was last night. That wasn't the problem. The problem was Officer Powell's cruiser, which was _not_ exactly where it had been the night before. Now it was double parked next to Dustin's parents' sedan and was effectively blocking the boys from boosting the car and getting to Hawkins.

Dustin ripped his hat off and threw it angrily in the dirt. "Son of a bitch!" he cried. Nothing was going right for them. First he couldn't get away from his parents, then Troy started tailing them, laughing about Lucas and now the car was blocked.

"What are we going to do?" Will asked, staring hopelessly at the cruiser.

"Maybe we can get Officer Powell to move his car?" Mike suggested.

"Yeah?" Dustin asked sarcastically. "You don't think that's going to seem even a little suspicious?"

Mike slumped against the cruiser and sighed. "I don't know."

"We're running out of time," Dustin huffed. He bent over to pick up his hat as the rain began falling. "Oh great," he said, squinting up at the sky.

"Can you drive in the rain?" Mike asked, bowing his head as fat droplets fell.

Dustin scoffed. "Hello? Windshield wipers?" he said. "But it doesn't matter. We can't get my parents' car out of here." He stuffed the keys back into his pocket. "We need another car or we're out of luck."

Will, who'd been looking thoughtfully down the line of parked cars, spoke up. "What about Jonathan?" He turned to Dustin and Mike, continuing, "We don't need to steal a car. I've been thinking about it and… I think Jonathan would take us to Hawkins." He ignored the other boys' skeptical stares and added, "If we explain why we want to go back. I think he'd take us."

The skies opened up then and rain began coming down in drenching sheets. All three boys hunched over identically. "Are you sure?" Mike yelled over the storm's downpour.

Will nodded, flinging droplets of water off of his bangs. "I think so."

"Then let's go," Dustin yelled, leading the other two quickly back to the campsite.

The three boys burst into Hopper's cabin in a sopping wet mass. They stood just inside the door for a minute, blinking water out of their eyes and dripping it onto the floor. The cabin was dark in the midday gloom and the chief was walking around, lighting lamps with a half-empty book of matches in his hand. Mrs. Byers was leaned over the table, palms pressed flat against the glossy wood surface, looking at them expectantly. "Is Jonathan with you?" she asked.

Will shook his head, flinging more water to the floor. His mom disappeared for a second behind the door of her bedroom and returned holding two faded, terrycloth towels. "You're soaked," she said, handing one towel to Dustin and Mike, while draping the second over Will's head. "All of you."

"Yeah, we got caught in it for a couple minutes," Dustin explained, taking the towel from Mike and wiping water from the back of his neck.

"Jonathan isn't here?" Will asked. Mike and Dustin turned to Mrs. Byers, hopefully.

The crashing rain created a constant thrum overhead as it struck the roof and gushed over the eaves. "He left with your sister," Mrs. Byers said, nodding to Mike, "over two hours ago." She moved away from the boys and leaned against the window sill, watching the curtain of water dance across the glass. "They were just getting water."

Dustin smirked and muttered under his breath, "Sounds like they're doing more than that."

" _Shut up_!" Mike hissed, elbowing Dustin in the side.

The chief walked up behind Mrs. Byers and rubbed her shoulders, peering outside with a concerned frown. "It's really coming down," he said. "Hopefully they found some shelter somewhere."

Mrs. Byers rubbed her forehead agitatedly. "They should've been back by now."

Dustin smirked at Mike again.

Will, who'd been quiet as usual, peeled himself from the other two and walked further into the cabin, leaving wet sneaker prints behind him. He crossed slowly to the other window in the main room, across from his mom and Hopper. Pressing his fingers against the fogged glass, Will stared outside as an anxious crease slowly crept across his brow.

"Will?" Mike asked, stepping forward.

Dustin felt an unexplainable dread building inside. "Will, what's wrong?"

Hearing their concern, Mrs. Byers and the chief turned to see Will, still silently watching out the window. His eyes were wide and focused.

"Will, honey?" Mrs. Byers asked.

From his vantage point, Dustin could just make out the lights of Mr. Clarke's cabin. In the shadowy gloom of the storm, they shone like a beacon among the oil lamps in the other cabins. Then, suddenly, they flickered.


	34. Chapter 34

Beginning of the End

Nancy

This time was different from the last—from their first. This kiss was less tentative and nervous. It was less fleeting. There was power and emotion and, underneath it all, a raw desire that stoked the passion in them both. When Nancy kissed Jonathan this time, he held her closer, wove his fingers through her rain-dampened hair and pressed his injured hand into the small of her back, pulling her into him.

The cabin was full of the humming bass of rainwater washing down overhead, the soft rustle of Nancy's fingers, drawing across Jonathan's shirt, the rhythmic breathing they shared and Nancy's heartbeat, like a gentle metronome, keeping time in a moment that lasted an eternity.

This time was different from every other kiss Nancy had ever experienced, from the awkward fumblings of adolescence to her relationship with Steve. They paled in comparison to the kinetic energy and perfect synchrony that blossomed in the dusky seclusion of that abandoned cabin. And when their connection reached a feverish pitch and Jonathan drew away for a breathless second, Nancy knew that she'd fallen into the beginning of something new and amazing.

Nancy opened her eyes—clear and startlingly blue, even in the stormy darkness—to see Jonathan staring back. His eyes—a dark, shadowy hazel—held her speechless. Their bodies were still pressed together, their faces inches apart, but neither made a move to release the other and in the utter captivity of his arresting stare, Nancy realized, both suddenly and hesitantly, that she loved him.

As if consumed with the same rushing emotion, Jonathan finally whispered, "I don't want you to leave."

For all the romantic confessions she could have chosen, Nancy could only manage a weak, "I don't want to go," in response. And, unbidden, tears pooled along the ridges of her eyes.

Jonathan pulled his hand from the chestnut curls of her ponytail and brushed his thumb softly against her cheek, wiping away the single tear that had dropped. In his expression she saw how much her pain wrecked him and leaned forward to do the one thing that could stop her from seeing her own anguish reflected in his face. But before their lips met, an electric current raced up the length of her scar and, simultaneously, a bolt of lightning filled the black sky, flooding the woods with a blinding light.

Nancy jumped back, breaking away from Jonathan. She was staring out the window, ignoring the tiny shocks that continued to dance up and down her back.

"What is it?" Jonathan asked. He turned, looking over his shoulder through the window. But the light had faded again and in the gloom, everything was a murky grey.

Nancy wanted to ignore it, to pretend she hadn't seen anything, but she couldn't. She reached out and grabbed Jonathan's uninjured hand. "We have to leave," she said, darkly. Clenching her jaw, she numbed her mind to the exquisite currents that continued to travel the strip of scarred flesh along her back. "We have to run, _now_."

Jonathan didn't ask. He didn't have to. He saw her expression, read the note of urgency in her voice and rushed out the door into the thunderous downpour. "Where is it?" he asked, whipping his head left and right.

Nancy braced herself, planting her feet squarely and turned her head slowly, like the arrow of a compass, listening, feeling for its movement. She stopped, face pointing toward the path they'd taken earlier. She felt its presence, like a familiar pulse of light in a night sky—always there, but only visible when the sun set. Her eyes fluttered open and the pupils constricted in the darkness. "There," she said simply. Her fingers squeezed protectively over Jonathan's as the feeling of a presence manifested itself into a looming black form.

The Demogorgons had come.

"Run!" they cried to each other in unison, turning from the path and launching into the woods. The trees whipped past, inky black from the rain, branches hanging heavily in front of them. Leaves underfoot were golden yellow as they drove forward, cutting a swath through the heavy mist that rolled, eerily, from the sun-warmed soil.

Nancy's feet barely skimmed the earth as she darted ahead and every push seemed to launch her further and faster than Jonathan. She heard single raindrops in a storm of millions, the individual creak of tree branches, bowing to the storm. She felt the staggering charge of lightning roiling above them and the thundering steps of their pursuer as it blindly drove ahead.

They ran and they ran. They flew through thickets of spindly branches that clung to their clothes and leapt over rotten logs, crumbling into the soil. They ran until their hair swung in heavy, wet ropes and their clothes clung to their sweating bodies. Their shoes sunk with each step into the mud and the rain, and still they ran, darting around trees and scrambling over boulders.

Nancy's fingers strained to keep hold of Jonathan's while she flew through the woods. His breath came in wet gasps behind her and his gate flagged until he stumbled. Nancy stopped. Nearby she heard the cascading rush of a river. They'd made enough distance that they could rest. The Demogorgon, though still on the hunt, was far enough that Nancy felt safe stopping for a moment.

"Are you okay?" she asked. Jonathan was doubled over, catching his breath. As it evened out, he looked up at her, curiously. It wasn't until she registered his concern that she realized she wasn't winded at all. In fact, she wasn't exhausted in the slightest. The only nuisance she'd been tolerating was the annoying tingle that continued to ripple up and down her scar.

Biting her lip, she held out her hand to hold Jonathan's again. The rain was letting up slightly. It was still heavy, but not a storm. Even as she thought that, Nancy watched lightning fork across the sky in the distance.

Hand-in-hand, they walked forward, still trying to put distance between them and the Demogorgon. Nancy wanted to run again—to flee until the monster lost interest—but Jonathan couldn't keep up. He needed a minute to catch his breath and relax his muscles. In the meantime, Nancy concentrated on the looming presence in the distance. She felt it stalking toward them—a half-mile away. Maybe less? They'd gained distance, but they needed to keep moving. She bottled that urgency and walked evenly with Jonathan, toward the rushing river.

Shortly, the edge of a steep ledge appeared. An unexpected, but gorgeous weeping willow grew next to the ridge, its sweeping branches hanging so low as to almost skim the river's surface fifteen feet below. Jonathan and Nancy approached the edge and looked over. Below, the water rushed downstream. The river was swollen from the rain and white froth built up around eddies and rippling peaks. It moved fast, but, Nancy thought, not dangerously fast. And it was deep—deep enough for them to jump. On the other side, there was no ledge, just a gradual bank that they could swim to. But it was a wide river—thirty yards? Maybe forty?

In the back of her mind she felt the tug of a dangerous presence. The Demogorgon was gaining. They didn't have time to stand around. They had to escape and they needed a fast route. Nancy intertwined her fingers with Jonathan's. "We can swim," she said.

Jonathan looked at the river dubiously. "Really?" he asked. She still heard the breathlessness in his voice. But they could rest as soon as they got away.

Ignoring the persistent electric tingling along her scar, she replied, "Yes, it's not too fast." She squeezed his fingers and tugged him closer to her, turning her back on the river and facing Jonathan. "All we have to do is let it take us a little downstream while we swim to the other side. It's easy," she said. "I promise."

Nancy took a step back, placing herself dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. Below, the water promised an escape. She knew he was looking over her shoulder, calculating the distance. "You can swim this?" he asked, not taking his eyes off of the river.

The presence tugged at the back of her mind again. They were almost out of time. "Yes," she insisted. She could see his hesitation, feel his fear. "My parents enrolled me in swimming classes when I was young," she explained quickly. Jonathan met her gaze and nodded. "I've been swimming for over ten years," she continued. She could help him across. She knew she could. There was a strength and drive brimming in her that she couldn't explain. She just needed him to jump. "I can do this," she said firmly.

The Demogorgon was almost there. She could hear its footsteps. They were out of time.

It was now or never.

Jonathan nodded and a committed looked passed over his face. "Swim," he said simply.

Nancy's heart dropped. She grasped for his hand, but it was already slipping through her fingers. She moved in slow motion, reaching desperately for him, but seeing, almost presciently, what he was doing. "Jonathan, _no—_ ," she pleaded as his hand, lightning-fast, turned palm-up and he pressed his fingers against her breastbone.

He whispered, "I'll find you," before the sharp, solid push cast her over the edge and she was helplessly swallowed by the impassive rush of icy water.


	35. Chapter 35

Beginning of the End

Jonathan

He watched Nancy plunge into the river and waited just long enough to see her reemerge beyond the weeping willow's branches before being swept downstream with the swift current. Behind him, he heard the soft suction of the Demogorgon's steps as it trudged slowly through mud and sopping leaves. Then came the bone chilling nickering and cold, rattling exhale.

Jonathan turned on his heel and charged upstream, leading the monster away from Nancy. He let fear and panic propel him forward, but he was still exhausted and his breath came in sharp, painful gasps. The path he'd chosen was growing steeper uphill and veering away from the river. His footing was less sure, sliding over patches of glossy leaves and stumbling over loose rocks. From below he heard the snapping of twigs and tumble of dislodged boulders as his pursuer gained on him.

Finally reaching the top of the hill and staggering forward, Jonathan found himself in a small field of goldenrod and milkweed. Pinching his elbows to his side and biting back the pain of the cramp that dug into his ribs, he forced his feet forward into a clumsy sprint. The tape that held his bandage was already peeling back, so he grabbed the corner and hastily unwrapped the cotton gauze, shaking his injured hand to loosen the dressings from his cut.

The first layer was white and pristine. He let it flutter behind him, sinking into his swampy footprints. The second layer was spotted brown with old blood. The thundering from behind told him he was losing this race. Sliding his thumb under the final wad of bandages, he peeled it away, praying that it still carried enough scent to act as a decoy and left it on the red crown of a staghorn sumac before making a hairpin turn and running away from the river, back into the woods.

He ran for another quarter mile, then slowed to a jog, then a walk and finally stopped, planting his hands on his knees and gasping desperately. The air was sweet and heavy with the storm. Sweat mixed with the rain that dripped from his eyebrows and the glossy tips of his hair. It ran along the curve of his open mouth and fell from the edge of his chin. Jonathan concentrated on relaxing his muscles, slowing his breathing and focusing. He needed to keep moving. He needed to get back to Nancy. The bandage diversion wouldn't last long and he needed to find her before the Demogorgon did. Then—he clenched his jaw determinedly—they needed to get out of Indiana together.

Letting out a deep breath, Jonathan strained to hear any movement. He listened for a footfall, a rattling pant, a faint growl. All he heard was the steady rain, soft and constant. Standing back up, he wiped the sweat and water from his forehead and brought away a hand covered in blood. His heart stopped at the sight of his dark, glistening palm. The cut—it had reopened when he ripped off the bandage. Jonathan swiped at the injury, wiping away the smear. It wasn't bleeding heavily—just a few cracks in the scab were oozing. But was that enough?

In response, he felt the earth shudder beneath his feet as the steps of something monstrous began again. And, with a defeated groan, Jonathan turned and ran, his mind reeling. How could he escape now? His plan backfired in the worst possible way. Frantically, he tugged his shirt over his head and wrapped the drenched fabric around his cut. The footsteps grew louder.

Ahead was another steep incline and Jonathan promised himself that if he could just get to the top, he'd run into the river again and jump in. That was his only hope now. That was his only escape—let the water carry him away. He climbed the hill bent over, grasping at rocks and narrow trees to pull him up, his feet scrabbling below. One false step sent his leg into the sharp edge of a fractured rock. Jonathan let out a choked cry and grabbed at his knee. Already red beads were blossoming from the new cut. And from the woods emerged the Demogorgon, its jaws outstretched—the soft flesh inside its mouth pink and swollen.

Jonathan dug his toes into the ground and lunged forward. His shirt slipped from the palm of his injured hand, falling aside and landing against the rock that had cut him, as he frantically struggled to the top of the hill. Ahead he could see a ridge and the drop off that promised his escape. It was so close. Using the last of his failing energy, he limped and stumbled to the edge. Falling on all fours, he finally looked over the ledge to the rocky ravine below.

There was no river.

Hope and determination collapsed inside of him. He dropped his head in his hands and let out a dry sob as raindrops speckled his bare back. He felt his resolve wither and his strength fail. With his final ounce of willpower, he lifted his head from his hands and considered jumping over the edge—if, for nothing else, to claim this one last act as his own.

Before he could move, though, the immediate shift of loose gravel announced the Demogorgon's arrival. Jonathan turned, staring into the faceless maw of his own death and as the creature pounced, he shut his eyes to the end of the world.


	36. Chapter 36

Beginning of the End

Mike

"When did you last see her?"

Mike shrugged, turning away guiltily. His mom tightened her grip on his shoulders and bent over to face him. Overhead, the evening sky was a rich purple after the day's rain. Stars were slowly twinkling to life and in the growing dark, Mike watched a group of people to his left turning on flashlights.

"I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "This morning, maybe? Before she left."

His mom dropped her head sadly. Behind her, Holly held a Barbie doll in one hand and a cup of juice in the other.

"I'm sorry," Mike added.

Lifting her head to meet his eyes, she said sternly, "Stay near me." It wasn't a warning. Mike could understand that much in the desperate shake of her voice. She was terrified. "Don't leave my sight," she said.

Mike nodded as, to his left, the first cries echoed out: " _Nancy? Jonathan!_ "

Most of the campsite's residents took part in the search. Those without flashlights grouped around others who did. Everyone created a ring and fanned out, lining the edge of the forest. Two small groups broke away and followed the dirt road leading away from the camp. Mike kept close to his mom and held Holly's hand, while Dustin and Will stayed nearby.

"Nancy!" Mike shouted into the trees. The flashlight he carried shone weakly into the underbrush, lighting up the dull gray surface of a stone, the creeping white of lichen on a tree trunk, the raindrops still clinging to the fronds of a fiddlehead fern.

"Jonathan!" Will cried. He still had the same panicked look from earlier—a look that hadn't eased even when Mr. Clarke assured an equally nervous Mrs. Byers that his generator was just on the fritz. The flickering lights were nothing to be alarmed about, Mr. Clarke had said easily. But as the day wore on and afternoon turned to dusk, the absence of Jonathan and Nancy turned from a nuisance to a serious concern.

After sunset, the chief had rallied River Valley's temporary inhabitants and created a search party. Mike hadn't said anything at the time—wanting to ease Will's obvious anxiety—but the entire scenario felt a little too familiar and, given the state of Hawkins, Mike was beginning to understand Will's panic.

"Nancy!" Mike yelled as loud as he could, stepping into the tree line, crushing brittle leaves beneath his sneakers.

To his right, Dustin's parents were sweeping the forest floor with their flashlights calling out with Mr. Clarke for Jonathan. A dozen flashlights over, Troy stomped angrily after his mom, refusing to participate.

"Where's Nancy?" came Holly's delicate voice next to him. Her warm little hand fit snugly into his and in her other hand was the Barbie doll from before. Mike wondered vaguely what happened to her juice cup.

"Um," Mike settled onto his knees next to his sister and set his flashlight down. "She's in the woods, Holly." Behind him he felt his mom watching silently. "She's lost with Wills' brother and we're going to find them." Holly stared back silently, absorbing every word. "Is that okay?" he asked. The moment of applied patience felt calming.

Holly nodded with a smile and turned, calling out, "Nan- _CY_!" The last syllable slipped into a high-pitched squeal.

Mike picked up his flashlight again and moved forward, slowly, leading Holly into the woods. Voices echoed around them, crying out for Jonathan and Nancy. But they were met with silence. Mike's mom corralled them forward as they climbed the first hill—the one that led to that block of shale he'd sat on, while planning their rescue attempt for Lucas. As they passed the stone, he turned to his friends and reflected their morose stares. As long as he left for his aunt's house tomorrow morning, they'd have no chance to find Lucas.

"Nancy!" his mom shouted.

"Jonathan!" Will screamed into the darkness.

The trees turned black, their leaves turned black, the ground was a collection of sweeping spotlights.

"Jonathan!" Mrs. Byers cried to his left. Then, more quietly, "Oh, please, Jonathan, _please_ …"

He watched Chief Hopper wrap his arm around Will's mom and belt out Jonathan's name, only to be met with the same silence.

"Dude," Dustin asked under his breath. "Do you think there's a chance the Demogorgons travelled this far?"

Mike glanced at his sister before replying quietly, "The chief said they were expanding their territory…" He gave Dustin a knowing glance.

"Nancy! Jonathan!" Dustin yelled.

On Dustin's left, Will abruptly stopped.

"Will?" Dustin asked, slowing to a tentative halt. "Don't do that. You're freaking me out."

"Shh.." Will said quickly. His eyes were wide, darting left and right.

In between the shouts on either side, Mike heard it—a cracking branch or twig. Someone walking through the woods? Then the sound stopped. Mike stood still with Dustin and will, listening intently. His mom turned to him and drew her eyebrows down, curiously. "Mike?"

Almost indiscernibly, Mike shook his head. Another crack carried down from up the hill. This time the chief and Mrs. Byers heard it. On the other end of the campsite, people still screamed out Nancy and Jonathan's names.

Their entire strip, including Dustin's family and Mr. Clarke, Steve and his mom, Mrs. Byers and Hopper, Mike and his family, held still, barely breathing as they stared into absolute darkness and waited for another sign of movement.

It began as a hum, then a quiet mumble. Then Mike could finally pinpoint Will's steady stream of "No no no no no _nonononono_ …"

At once their flashlights began shorting. The entire circle flickered in artificial light, like an S.O.S. beacon.

"This is bad," Dustin announced, taking a step back.

There was movement all around suddenly: cracking branches, rushing leaves and a chilling growl that seemed to emanate from the heart of the group.

To his left, Mrs. Byers lunged for Will and Hopper's voice, cold and clear, cut through the night: " _Run!_ "

It was meant for everyone—every person in the park. But only their group understood its weight and meaning. Only their small group.

And the people on the other side of the campsite who'd begun shrieking a rending, blood-curdling screech.

At once the entire population broke into panicked screams—nothing like the death throes across the site, but a cacophony of wails ensued as everyone stampeded back to the cabins.

Mike's hand, still wound around his sister's, tightened involuntarily as a familiar, sinewy form materialized before him. He didn't have a chance to scream or even close his gaping mouth before his mother's vice-like grip snared his wrist and dragged him and Holly frantically down the hill.

In the back of his mind, Mike could just register Dustin's voice crying over and over, "They're everywhere! _They're everywhere_!" And even further away he heard those screams again, layered and piercing and, one by one, cut short. And in their wake he felt a cold numbness overwhelming him.

Everywhere was black. The flashlights were gone, dead or forgotten. A flurry of movement ripped him one way and then the other, but an unrelenting grip kept him anchored to his sister and he was being directed firmly by the other arm.

Dustin was gone.

Will was gone.

Everyone was gone but Mike and his leader and his anchor. Together they wove through the unfamiliar—darkness, blind movement, cries, pleading, the wet gasping of pain. Shots were being fired. A gun. Then a cruel flash of white hot light as someone shattered an oil lamp, its reflection dancing bizarrely in the pond's rippling surface.

More screams, and another piercing light from the headlights of the first car to start. And Mike understood where they were running. The cars! He pulled Holly ahead, ready to carry her if need be. Ahead he caught a flash of the chief, his pistol raised, and Mrs. Byers, shielding a small form as together they rushed toward the dirt road.

Behind them: mayhem, destruction, agony.

Mike bolted ahead, guided by his mom's determined strength. He could see the cars! He turned to look at Holly, her wide eyes shining in the headlights of a roaring truck as she watched her brother intently. She was working so hard to keep up. Mike offered her a quick, reassuring smile: _We're going to be okay._

Then the hand holding his other wrist, leading them forward, was ripped away.


	37. Chapter 37

Beginning of the End

Nancy

She had scrapes on her forearms and shins from dragging herself over the slippery rocks of the shallows. Narrow paths of pilling skin rolled away as she brushed the tender spots. Her knees were sunk in a mix of fine gravel and mud on the bank of the river as she coughed wetly into the crook of her elbow and scanned the shore. How far had she traveled downriver? She'd misjudged the strength and speed of the water—that much was clear. It had swept her away in an instant and by the time she'd balanced fighting the current and catching her breath, the sheer ledge to her left had been replaced with the same flat bank as the other side of the river.

At least that meant she was on the same side as Jonathan.

Cupping her hands around her mouth, she screamed out, "Jonathan!"

The cry agitated the moisture in her lungs and she doubled over, coughing violently. Her breath came in raspy wheezes, but she dragged her feet from the foamy edge of the river and pointed herself back upstream. "Jonathan!" she cried again.

The tops of the trees glowed warmly in the setting sun and the sky, still smoky with rainclouds, began shifting to richer, evening colors. The ground—loose gravel held in place with ragged weeds and tufts of field grass—sloped upward. Nancy marched forward, determined to find Jonathan, but certain she'd collapse before nightfall. The gravel, loose from the day's rain, slipped beneath her feet, but she moved steadily, her pace solid and stable. Gradually, as the river's bank eased away, the gravel changed to hard packed mud and ragweed. The bank gave way to a short ledge as the earth raised above the river's water. Trees mixed in with the field grass and leaves carpeted the ground. Nancy's strength built with each step, the moisture wicking from her body and clearing from her even breath. She felt rejuvenated through the movement and her pace quickened.

"Jonathan!" she cried out again.

She battled fear and fury as she ran the scenario over in her mind again and again.

 _I'll find you_. Those were his last words. She wanted to believe it. That he was out there, looking for her, calling out her name the way she'd been crying out for him. But in the back of her mind was the memory of his ragged breathing as he stumbled while they ran, unable to keep up with her. He was slow, tired and alone. Behind the fear and fury, she felt keenly the agony of his loss.

"Jonathan!" she screamed.

Her feet were moving faster, running through the woods as the light faded. She held her hands ahead, swiping at branches and tangles of choke weed as she cut through the forest, panic building. Unconsciously, she probed her surroundings, searching for the _presence_. She concentrated on her scar like a divining rod, willing it to locate the Demogorgon and, in doing so, reveal Jonathan's location. But the ephemeral sensation had passed. Her scar barely registered the brush of cotton as her blouse twisted with her movement. She tried to reach out mentally and touch the existence of the creature, but her mind found static. There was nothing.

"Jonathan!" she cried. Her toes dug into the earth, pushing her forward in swift lunges as her run turned into a sprint. Tears cut across her cheek, whipped into her hair by the wind as she tore ahead. All exhaustion had fled. Her pain was gone. She burst from the tree line to the very same weeping willow she'd admired an hour before. There was the ledge, the river and the last place she'd seen Jonathan. Her sneakers, still wet, stood in the very spot he'd been when he pushed her.

 _I'll find you._

"Jonathan!" Her voice broke pitifully and the echo of her cry was painfully hollow in the vast forest beyond.

Following his path was simple, but troubling, as each imprint his sneakers had left in the rain-softened earth was muddled by a deep impression of the Demogorgon's clawed print. Nancy felt a wave of rage at the thought of the creature tracking Jonathan and she bristled aggressively, redoubling her efforts as she scaled a rocky incline and crested the hill to find herself in an oddly secluded field.

"Jonathan!" Her voice echoed in the valley's natural amphitheater.

Halfway across the field, a sodden strip of gauze was trampled into the mud beneath her feet. She pulled it up, plucking at the beige square of medical tape on one end. A few feet ahead, beneath the vivid red berries of a staghorn sumac, rested another wad of gauze, still wound in a bunched loop as it had been on Jonathan's palm. Nancy picked it up and, in the fading plum light of the dusky sky, she saw the brown stains of dried blood.

So that had been his plan. She should have known; it had worked before. She closed her eyes and thought back to that night in his home. It was both terrifying and thrilling. The determination—they were willing to risk everything! Had they been naïve or brave? Maybe both. The corners of her lips curled up and another tear squeezed out as she thought of them cutting their hands and taking turns bandaging each other. Whatever Jonathan had been to her before that moment, their relationship had changed that evening. They'd forged a bond and that link had only grown stronger.

"Jonathan!" she yelled, her eyes snapping open again. She wasn't about to let that link break now.

The path led her right. She cut through the field and back into the forest. Jonathan's footprints slowly became closer together until they almost dragged. He'd walked. He'd stopped. And then he'd started again—faster. Nancy ran, keeping the trail to her left, watching his prints and the Demogorgon's. They veered north, further away from the campsite. Jonathan's prints were clumsy and branches were broken, whether from Jonathan's exhaustion or the monster's fury, Nancy didn't know, but she picked up speed.

When she reached the last climb—one more rocky uphill—she heard a sound behind her. Voices, a whole collection, yelling. It reminded her of the roaring cheers of the crowd at her school's football games. She took a couple steps up the hill, trying to place the sound. Tossed to the side of the path was a cotton t-shirt, balled up into a crumpled heap. Nancy drew it instinctively to her face and inhaled deeply. She shook it out and held it in front of her. Spots of blood stained the fabric and there were a few holes along the bottom.

Behind her the voices rose again. Then it dawned on her: the camp. That was the only explanation. The camp was to the south, where the voices were coming from. But were they having a party? No, that didn't make sense. Nancy had taken a few more steps before she realized what she was hearing. She looked at the sky. Twilight had fallen and between the few remaining stubborn storm clouds, stars were twinkling to life. The voices she heard were coming from a search party. They were looking for Nancy and Jonathan.

Adding her voice to the echoing beyond, she cried, "Jonathan!" and pulled herself over the top of the hill. There was the end of the chase. A rocky ledge and the plummeting ravine. She walked heavily to the edge with her hand to her mouth, taking deep, steadying breaths. The footprints ended—both sets. There were a few deep striations in the earth, mud furrowed up around the gouges and, on the flat, dull plane of a large rock, set solidly in the ground, a splash of black liquid. _Mud_ , Nancy told herself. But her nostrils flared at the unmistakable scent of blood, nauseatingly sweet and rusty.

Nancy rubbed her fist aggressively into her forehead, shaking off the idea that she could somehow _smell_ blood three feet away. She closed her eyes and bit back the panic and excruciating agony that was building inside of her. Crouching down, she pressed her head into her hands. "Okay, okay, okay…" she told herself, breathing slowly and rhythmically. She took a small lap around the site and couldn't find any more footprints. In the distance, the voices still called out.

She stopped at the brink of the precipice, her toes over the edge. The drop wasn't sheer. It was an incredibly steep descent, but, given the right motivation, anyone could make the climb and survive. There were bushes and scraggly trees clinging to the side of the cliff. Jonathan could have climbed down. A moment later, Nancy was convinced that he'd done exactly that and was already lowering herself to the first shoddy foothold.

Twice her handholds dislodged and she slid to the next rooted rock or stalwart tree willing to hold her weight. Stubborn knots of brown grass and ancient roots from far off trees stuck out from the earth, offering her handles and steps as she lowered down the hundred-foot drop. A little more than halfway, darkness had truly fallen. Crickets sang sleepily in the night and the wall of dirt Nancy faced faded to a colorless mass like the rest of the world.

As she neared the bottom, the voices amplified. She could almost distinguish her name in the echoing rabble. Her feet touched solid ground when the screams started—piercing the night and chilling her to the bone. She froze in the din of a distant terror. They climbed and fell, shrieking so far away. Then more joined, and more, until the entire camp rang with horror and Nancy stood helplessly in the tunneling black of night, miles away.

Her heart raced. What should she do? She was so close to finding Jonathan and he needed her. He couldn't fight the monster alone and he couldn't run anymore. But what about her mom? Holly and Mike? And Steve?

She gasped audibly, suddenly out of breath as the screams continued, frantic and frightened. She clamped her jaw and turned. She'd come this far. She had to get Jonathan; then they'd go back to the camp together. Spinning on her heels, she scanned the ground, looking for his shoeprints, trying to pick up the trail again.

"Jonathan!" she screamed. Her eyes darted left and right frantically. The sky was a discord of agonized wails and the death screams of her friends and family. Her nerve endings tingled and her limbs trembled with anxiety. "Jonathan!" she screamed again. There were no prints. No sneaker prints, no clawed prints. No broken branches or shifted rocks. Her entire body shook and her vision blurred behind a veil of tears. The screams became the night. They enveloped her and pierced her core, turning her cold and frigid, like the dead. Like the screams that stopped. Gone, gone, gone.

A gunshot cut through the woods and Nancy turned south.

Of course. Jonathan must have heard the screams. He'd begun heading back to the campsite already. She'd catch up. She'd meet him there.

 _I'll find you_.


	38. Chapter 38

A/N: Thank you, thank you for the faves, follows and feedback! That is such an uplifting response to my updates and continued motivation for me to keep writing diligently! This chapter is a long one, but is also the first part of the end of this story! Hope you enjoy it!

* * *

The End Part 1

Nancy

Two more gunshots. A few minutes of screams. The squeal of tires and blaring horns. Then silence. Nothing but silence. Even the crickets had stopped humming and toads had stopped chirping. The only sound was the impact of Nancy's shoes striking the ground as she ran.

She followed the ravine, hugging the cliff as she hurried along, thankful for the wedge of moonlight that cast its cool glow across the forest. She kept her eyes trained ahead, watching for any movement, any indication she'd caught up with Jonathan. But the forest was as motionless as it was silent. The minutes ticked away until Nancy finally noticed the subtle shift of the moon. The ravine had changed direction. She stopped and looked around before cursing angrily. It had curved north. She was running in the wrong direction.

Turning, Nancy sprang forward, never tired, despite her nonstop sprint. But she felt chills in the disorienting quiet. As gruesome as it seemed, she preferred the screams. At least they were a beacon for her to follow. At least they were a sign of life.

From deep in her core, she felt the beginnings of a nimble static flow gliding the length of her scar. She suppressed the sensation, hoping subconsciously that it only meant she was closing in on Jonathan, but knowing the truth. Something was waiting for her at the campsite. And it wasn't Jonathan.

She passed the spot where she'd climbed down the ravine. Still she watched for Jonathan, running ahead. She watched for footprints and broken branches. She watched the ground for a body. Her vision tunneled with pooling tears and then cleared as they ran down her cheeks. But she uttered no sound. She just kept running ahead—running through unbroken branches and untouched earth. Running without sign of Jonathan or his attacker.

 _Because they're gone_ , a voice whispered inside her head. _And you can never run fast enough to change that_.

She picked up momentum, driven mad by the silence outside and the mocking inside. And when her path took her too far east, Nancy faced the cliff again and scaled it. She poured her frustration and anguish into her movement, digging her feet into the hard earth and launching herself up to grab roots with the tips of her fingers, then dragging herself up. Sweat built at the base of her neck, running rivulets down her spine and streamed from her temples to form little puddles in the cavities of her collarbone. It took over a half hour for her to reach the top and when she flung herself over the lip, exhaustion finally set in.

On her hands and knees, Nancy gave herself as much time to catch her breath as she dared. Her elbows shook uncontrollably and sweat dripped steadily from the tip of her nose as Nancy stared at the ground and worked to even her breathing.

When she stopped gasping, it was time to move again. She pointed herself south and started off at a sprint, thankful that she was heading downhill. Her gate was loping—long strides taking advantage of the sloping terrain. She gained momentum again, traveling forward heavily, ears still pricked for the hint of a sound. But the forest maintained its resolute silence and the subtle static in her scar had begun to tingle more aggressively, rippling up and down as she closed the distance between her and the camp.

The weeping willow passed in a blur to her right. Then back into the woods she ran. Miles passed and time passed and the moon shifted ever slowly across the sky. Had midnight come yet? How soon was sunrise? She looked east for the hint of light, but found none. The river's shore passed on her right and she veered left, angling herself toward Jonathan's dad's old cabin.

Using her forearms as a shield, she broke through thickets of thorns and woven pine branches. She leapt over fallen trees and veered around the stumps. Her breath came easy and her feet were swift and weightless. But the electricity that flowed in her scar intensified with every step.

The cabin loomed suddenly out of the darkness—a blacker shadow amongst shadows—and she knew she was only a few miles away. She swept easily past the front door, only barely registering that it was still ajar from their hasty escape earlier. The ferns that clustered around the cabin brushed moistly and gently against her shins before bouncing back with a rustling shudder.

The dirt walkway met her feet suddenly with a solid beat. There were fewer leaves to soften her tread, replaced with a spray of uniform gravel that had once been distributed when the path was used more often. Nancy suspected it had been forgotten years ago and only the occasional traveler's footsteps served to wear it down any more. But after hours zigzagging through unmarked terrain, the path was a perfect guide to Nancy's destination.

With miles to go, she focused again, concentrating on the same sensation she'd felt earlier. She willed herself to locate the presence of another Demogorgon. But she came up empty. There was no presence nearby. Yet the tingling in her scar persisted. She knew there was a connection. She'd realized it hours before, outside of the old cabin with Jonathan, when the Demogorgon's presence had drawn her like a magnet. She'd known when Jonathan was gasping for air and crippled with fatigue after racing through the woods and she stood by, unaffected. She knew by the whisper in her scar—the tingling trace of the Demogorgon's touch that alerted her to their movement, their presence and their excitement. She knew it now, as she ran for perhaps the third hour unending, still breathing steadily through her nose and breaking every record she'd ever set in her P.E. class. There was something more in that scratch than a simple cut. Something she inherited and something she was never meant to survive. But Jonathan had interfered. And she'd lived.

The path curved quickly and Nancy passed the water station. She was nearing the dirt road that connected to the campsite. She scrunched her brow trying to think of Will. Why had she not paid more attention to her brother's friends? She rolled her eyes. _Stupid question_.

Still, had Will been affected the same as her? He was never supposed to survive either. He'd been stolen from the Demogorgon's lair. What prescient abilities had he inherited? Had he been scratched too? Did he have tingling scars? Nancy clenched her jaws, vowing to sit Jonathan's brother down and talk to him—survivor to survivor. Her eyes darted up the path to the very end where she could just make out the main dirt road. _If Will was still a survivor_.

The cars were gone. It was the first thing she noticed. Then the tracks in the dirt—ruts and tears where tires ripped through the earth. They'd left. They'd escaped. Nancy looked up and down the road. No, that wasn't entirely true; they weren't all gone. Some cars were still parked along the edge of the road. She counted them as she walked, hesitantly, toward the campsite. There was this green Volkswagen and a beige Volvo. She was close to the entrance when she spotted Jonathan's car. The Ford sat in the same place Steve had parked it, but the cars on either end had vanished.

Her steps slowed as she approached the opening of the road. The entryway was rutted and torn apart by tires ripping through the turf. Beyond, the grass was a heavy green as the first subtle light of sunrise caught the dewy blades in its light. Nancy walked through the wooded archway into the disturbingly empty circle of cabins. In the center, the pond threw off a heavy wave of mist, cloaking the valley in a foggy silence.

Nancy continued forward, slowly. Her scar burned, but she could pinpoint no immediate threat. Her foot crunched down on a half globe of glass. She pulled her sneaker back, looking curiously at the oil lamp she'd crushed. Around the glass, the lawn was burnt black as if the lamp had been shattered here hours before.

She took another step forward before the nauseating odor of blood staggered her. It filled her and blinded her, coppery and salty. Bile roiled in the back of her throat. Then she saw the surface of the pond—a momentary glimpse between the shifting mist. She saw fabric, wet and mixed with the green algae and, beneath, the form of a body floating. Gagging, Nancy fell to her knees. She covered her mouth with one hand and swallowed heavily, trying to block out the scent.

"Hello?" she cried out, her voice strangled and scratchy.

There was no sound.

Then, the unmistakable mechanical cocking of a gun.

Nancy's heart skipped a beat. "Who's alive?" she cried. She meant to ask "Who's there," but the words left her mouth jumbled.

For another minute there was no sound. Nancy searched the ground frantically. The cabins were all ghostly in the pale mist and there was no movement but the subtle bob of the forms in the pond. Finally, a familiar voice, tired and alone asked, "Nancy? Is that you?"

Nancy brushed away the nausea and the bobbing bodies and the missing cars. She stood up and started toward the cabin where Steve's voice had emanated. "Steve?" she asked the swirling fog. Her feet moved faster and faster until she broke into a run and threw open the door of the cabin, sobbing.

She was on her knees, the door having fallen open easier than she'd expected, and looked up to find Steve draped over the open window, holding a handgun. They stared at each other in complete shock and silence for almost a minute.

Then they both broke the silence simultaneously.

"What happened?" Nancy asked as Steve said, "Where were you?"

Nancy's mouth hung open, but she didn't respond. So Steve finally said, "We were attacked."

Breath coming in shallow, quiet gasps, Nancy replied, "Us too." She swallowed heavily. "I tried so hard…"

Steve rested the gun in his lap and bowed his head. "Where's Jonathan?" he asked.

Nancy felt a twinge of guilt and pain. She pinched her lips together and looked to the side as a few tears slipped out of the corners of her eyes. She opened her mouth, ready to tell him that Jonathan was lost, probably on his way here. Then she turned to look at Steve. Their eyes met and she closed her mouth again and shook her head.

Steve swallowed heavily and nodded. His pupils were wide and his face was flushed.

Nancy asked cautiously, "Where is everyone?" She was still on her knees, unable to stand and face the truth.

Steve licked his lips. "I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "Some got away. Some…" He looked up at Nancy. "There were at least fifteen of those monsters. They were all over. They showed up at once, like it was planned. Like an ambush." He met her eyes again and leaned forward. "They were _organized_ , Nancy."

"Where's my mom?" Nancy asked, suddenly suspicious that Steve was hiding something from her.

He bit down immediately, swallowing again with difficulty.

"Steve?" she asked. She got to her feet and realized then that he was sitting in a wooden chair. She looked down at him. "Where is she?"

He looked out at the pond, where death floated in its surface. A tear trickled down his cheek, but he didn't blink and didn't bother to wipe it away. "I tried to help," he said. "She was protecting Holly and Mike, but then Mike was…" his voice caught and he continued to stare wordlessly at the pond.

"Mike was what, Steve?" she rushed over to him and grabbed his shoulders. "Mike was _what_?"

Steve turned away from the pond. "They took Mike," he admitted. "They took Mike and your mom tried to stop them. So now she's…" he motioned vaguely to the pond.

Nancy let go of his shoulders. His skin felt hot and clammy beneath her touch. She wondered what he'd done to stay alive. "Where's Mike?" she demanded.

"I don't know, Nancy," he whispered. "They disappeared the same way they came. Just, _poof_!" He held up his empty hands to the cool light of pre-dawn. "They took a lot of people."

"Who else?" Nancy mumbled. Her words were muffled, spoken behind her hands that she'd cupped to her mouth. They trembled softly and the bile in the back of her throat began to rise again.

Steve looked at her desperately, reliving the night. "I don't know," he cried. "The chief got away with a family—Mike's friend, I think. Jonathan's mom left with his brother and some other woman. I don't know." He dropped his head in his hands and shook with sobs. "I don't know," he cried.

Nancy turned her head reluctantly and gazed out the open window to the pond. The fog was clearing as the sun came close to breaking the horizon and in the early morning glow, she saw the ghostly apparition of a hand, floating near the surface. Nancy flew out the door and grasped the corner of the cabin as she heaved into the dewy grass.

Her heart hammered. The acidic smell of her own sickness made her stomach churn. She stumbled back inside, gasping. The air in the cabin had a thick, sweet odor. It was somehow both familiar and unpleasant. She licked her lips and asked shakily, "Is anyone else still alive here?"

Steve stared at her and his expression finally softened. He glanced briefly over his shoulder and, behind him, a slight shadow moved in the corner. Nancy stepped forward, squinting disbelievingly. Her mouth hung open in shock. Falling back to her knees, Nancy held out her arms. "Holly?" she asked.

With skewed blonde pigtails and a dirty pink t-shirt, Holly hesitantly walked forward, scuffing her feet on the floorboards. She was holding a Barbie doll with both hands, but as she got closer, Nancy saw that one of the doll's arms was missing. Holly took the last few feet at a skip, dropped her doll on the floor and hugged Nancy. She squeezed and dug her fingers into Nancy's ribs and buried her face in Nancy's neck. In turn, Nancy held her sister close, wrapping her arms firmly around her tiny frame.

Beside them, Steve was looking at the gun in his lap. "She's all I could save," he agonized.

Nancy broke away from Holly and gave her sister a reassuring smile before turning and throwing her arms around Steve. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear. Again she registered how hot he felt and pulled away immediately. She stood up and straightened her shirt, brushing down the front, trying to organize her thoughts and reach a rational plane of thought. "We have to get out of here," she stated.

"I don't know if there are any cars left," Steve said, leaning out the window again. His face was still flushed and beads of sweat dotted his forehead.

Nancy nodded. "Jonathan's car is here. We'll take it," she replied. "We just need to get out of here now. Before they come back."

Holly looked nervously at Nancy. The doll was back in her hands and her little fingers were tugging at Barbie's hair.

Steve swallowed with difficulty. "Go," he agreed. He held up the gun. "I'm staying here, in case they show up again." His breathing was coming in quick puffs.

"Don't be ridiculous," Nancy retorted. "Get up. We're leaving." She turned toward the door, but stopped when Steve didn't follow.

He gave her a wan smile and looked at his legs. She followed his gaze to the shadows beneath his chair where his left pant leg had been torn away and the dark streaks beneath led to a bloody stain on the wood floor below. Nancy's heart stopped. She finally placed the sweet smell in the air, the familiar sticky scent of infection. Her lip trembled as she tried to find something to say.

Steve wiped the sweat from his forehead. "I told you I tried to help, but," he turned his head thoughtfully, "they're fast." He touched the skin above the wound and winced. "Funny thing is," he continued, "after that _thing_ slashed me like this, it just walked away." He looked at Nancy, shaking his head confusedly. "Like it was just leaving me for later. Like I was just going to sit there and wait for it to come back."

Nancy felt another tremor up her scar and was reminded of the wildlife books she'd used to figure out the Demogorgon's hunting pattern. She thought back to the spread describing the Komodo dragon. Its bites left victims with bacteria infested wounds, so the Komodo dragons didn't have to chase their prey; they just followed the trail until they found their victims, succumbed to sepsis.

"You _are_ just sitting here," Nancy said darkly.

Steve gave her a searching look.

"They're coming back," she announced. Holly let out a tiny gasp and clasped her doll tightly. "We're leaving." Nancy looked pointedly at Steve. "And you're coming with us."


	39. Chapter 39

The End Part 2

Nancy

"How are you not tired?" Steve asked, pressing into Nancy and limping forward.

She pulled his arm tighter around her shoulder and nodded to Holly at her side. They were slowly making their way down the dirt road, Steve clinging to Nancy and Holly next to her. Droplets of blood dripped from the tip of Steve's sneaker with each unsteady step. Overhead, the sky was changing from a pale gray to golden blue as the sun's first rays cut over the tops of the trees.

"I don't know," she replied. She rolled her head forward, ungluing her neck from the stickiness of his arm. He was an inferno—almost unbearable to touch. "How are you feeling?" she asked. Ahead, Jonathan's Ford was parked along the path.

They hobbled toward it in jerking steps, like an awkward three-legged race. "I'm fine," Steve said. He tried to laugh and ended up coughing so hard they had to stop. When they moved on, his head sagged weakly to his chest.

"I'm going to get you to a hospital," she promised, leaning him against the Ford's hood and scooping up Holly in one arm. The car was unlocked and the keys were pinned beneath the visor. Nancy grabbed them, whispering a relieved _thank you_ under her breath and put Holly in the back seat. "We're going for a drive, okay?" she asked her sister.

Holly stared at the floor where Jonathan's Pentax camera sat forgotten. "Where's Mom?" Holly asked. Nancy stared into her bright blue eyes, completely lost for words. She opened her mouth, but nothing came to her. Movement through the windshield brought her attention back to Steve who was slumping slowly to the ground. Nancy swallowed heavily and gave Holly a tight-lipped smile before shutting the door and circling the car to help Steve into the passenger seat. As soon as she'd closed the door, he leaned against the window listlessly.

Nancy had already turned the car around and was easing out into the main parking lot when she saw the torn sheet of paper on the dashboard. It reflected brightly in the dusty windshield, catching her eye. The handwriting wasn't familiar, but she knew what it meant and suspected Jonathan's mom had left it in their race to escape. Scrawled with black marker in messy writing, it said one word: _Indianapolis_.

Nancy looked in the rearview mirror and a pair of wide, blue eyes peered up from the back seat. "We're going to the city, Holly," Nancy said as cheerfully as possible. It was particularly difficult since the back of her throat still tasted like bile.

As she pulled out onto the narrow road that would lead them to the highway, she heard a soft thump and looked down to see Steve's gun had slipped from his limp hand and landed on the floorboard. "Steve?" she asked. She reached across and shook his shoulder.

He pulled himself from the window and brushed her away. "I'm just tired," he said groggily. She watched a bead of sweat drip from the tip of his nose to his bottom lip as he leaned his head back into the seat.

"Steve, I need you to stay awake," she said nervously. Her eyes darted from the road ahead to Steve's heavy-lidded gaze. "We're going to Indiana to find the others," she continued, hoping a dialogue would keep him focused and conscious. "But I'll find a hospital before that," she muttered under her breath.

The highway ramp led them north and as they approached the merge for I-65, Nancy saw a sign for Indianapolis—44 miles. Below the sign and halfway off the road was a truck hauling a small trailer. Its hazard lights were blinking, but as they passed, Nancy didn't see anyone inside. She turned back to the road and as they rose to meet the highway, her heart sank.

Bumper-to-bumper was an understatement. The lanes were crammed full of cars, vans, trucks and trailers. As far as she could see: blinking taillights and the cold glare of morning light reflecting on hundreds of metal roofs. Nancy stomped on the brake, screeching to a halt behind a faded blue Chevrolet sedan. "Damnit!" she swore as they stopped.

Breathing heavily through her nose and staring angrily at the blinking taillights of the Chevrolet, Nancy tried to rethink her plan. Obviously there must be another way to Indianapolis, but she didn't actually have her driver's license. She'd never spent any time driving around Indiana, so she didn't know what the side roads entailed this far north of Hawkins. Pinching her eyebrows thoughtfully, she leaned forward and reached across Steve to pop open the glovebox, hoping to find a road map. Halfway through rustling around the mess in the dashboard, Nancy stopped short. She pursed her lips curiously and sat upright in the silence of the highway traffic. _Silence_. Narrowing her eyes, Nancy scanned the line of cars in front of them and tilted the rearview mirror to peer at the procession behind. Suddenly it dawned on her how bizarre the silence was. No honking? No yelling? A second glance revealed the haunting reality—the cars were all empty. Open doors and empty seats accompanied the silence. The blinking lights were just a testament to the recent exodus, but the three of them were the only living souls on that road. Chills coursed through her body and the hair on her arms stood on end.

Nancy popped the car into reverse and backed at an angle. "We're getting out of here," she announced. She punched it back into gear and swerved around the mass of abandoned vehicles, driving cautiously along the shoulder. The right side of the car bumped along at a steep angle and in the rearview mirror, Nancy watched Holly grip her seatbelt to keep from tumbling to the passenger side. "You okay?" Nancy asked, raising her eyebrows. Holly peeked up and nodded, redoubling her grip on the belt.

They passed pickup trucks with furniture and suitcases piled in the bed, station wagons with their hatches bungeed shut over rolled tarps, cars with their trunks wide open and emptied. They passed an ambulance with its lights still flashing, but the siren muted. They passed a police car from Jackson county and a work van that had _Peterson's Plumbing_ stenciled on the side. And, after almost three miles, they came to the first collision. A tractor-trailer had jackknifed, plunging the trailer into a stretch of metal guardrail in front of them, effectively blocking their path. Nancy inched as close as possible, hoping for enough room to squeeze back onto the road and weave around the accident, but a bus's front end was crushed against the corner of the trailer, pinning shut her only hope of getting through.

"Damnit! Damnit! Damnit!" Nancy swore, punching the steering wheel with each curse. She pressed her forehead into her fist and shut her eyes, trying to think of a plan. Behind her, she heard Holly shuffling quietly in her seat. To her right, Steve was silent. Slowly, she lifted her head and forced her eyes open. There was a solution here. There was a way out of this. She just had to figure out what it was.

In front of them was the white side of the trailer, mud and road dirt flecked along its side. To their left was the bus, a Greyhound painted blue and red with chrome paneling. To the right, woods. Nancy sighed and checked her rearview mirror again. She surveyed the never-ending line of cars, doors ajar and lights blinking, waiting for a solution to come to her.

She tilted her head curiously, still staring at the abandoned cars. Tens or hundreds of them. Surely some of them still had the keys in the ignition or tossed, forgotten on the seat. Nancy was already shutting off the Ford. They could find another car, drive until they had to stop again and just move to another car. They could bounce from car to car until they hit the next city with a hospital or until they found the owners of the cars. Nancy had a sudden image of a crowd of thousands, marching ahead along the car-strewn highway.

She pushed open her door with difficulty—they were parked at a steep angle—and jumped out, yanking open Holly's door. "Come on," she said, unclipping her seat belt and pulling the little girl up with one arm hooked around her waist. "We're going to find another car, okay?"

She let Holly down next to the bus. "Wait here a sec," she said, hurrying over the shoulder to the passenger side of the Ford. Worried that Steve might slide out of his seat at the sharp angle when Nancy opened the door, she rapped her knuckles on the window to wake him. He didn't respond. She knocked harder and called his name through the glass. Steve remained still with his temple pressed into the window and his shoulder jammed against the door. Nancy yanked open the rear passenger side door and climbed over the back seat. She straddled the front seat and pressed her hands against Steve's shoulder, shaking him forcefully. "Steve," she said loudly. She climbed over the seat and folded her legs beneath her. He didn't respond, but his breathing was regular. She cupped his cheek and pulled his face toward hers, peeling back his eyelids with her thumbs. "Steve!" she called, centering herself in front of him. "Wake up, come on!"

While she held him, his eyes rolled back so the whites stared at her and she let his eyelids relax. "Steve?" she asked, a quiver of concern in her voice. His body jerked beneath her and he began trembling lightly under her fingers. She tightened her grip and shook him again. "Steve?" she cried. The jerking continued, light and sporadic, with sudden violent spasms that subsided immediately into a full-body tremble. Nancy registered, with a twinge of panic, that he was having a seizure. Then she remembered Mike's account of her illness after she'd been attacked by the Demogorgon. He'd said she had a seizure. She hadn't actually believed him at the time, but… She let her eyes slip from Steve's barely trembling eyelids to the shredded denim of his pants and the cuts beneath. If this was just a symptom—a side effect of whatever had happened to her. The panic disappeared and a shimmer of hope overwhelmed her.

"Steve," she said, her heart leaping excitedly. "Steve, it's okay." She straddled him to hold his body still as the tremors came less and less frequently. She locked her hands on his shoulders and tried to roll his head to face hers. "It's going to be okay," she whispered. Vaguely she was aware of Holly, still standing outside, watching from next to the bus. "This happened to me, remember? This is supposed to happen. You're going to be okay." She actually laughed a little as the last tremor faded beneath her. "You're going to be better than okay. It's amazing, Steve. You can _feel_ them and you'll be stronger and fast. You're going to be like me," she said, pressing her face against his and smiling her relief. "You're going to be like me."

In the silence of her last word, Steve's body became utterly still. No more trembles. No quaking tremors. The muscles relaxed beneath her. Nancy kept her face pressed, cheek-to-cheek with his, waiting for him to take a deep breath, for his eyes to flutter open. Instead, the chilling silence and stillness continued until Nancy realized that she'd been pressed against an unmoving chest for almost a minute. Her skin stuck to his and peeled away unpleasantly as she sat back. His head rolled to the side, lips parted slightly, already turning blue like his eyelids.

Nancy forced her fingers into the soft underside of his jaw, feeling for a pulse. She pressed her free hand into the other side of his neck, pushing his head to the side. The joy she'd felt moments earlier became a poisonous betrayal; it crushed her and she grew frantic, groping Steve's neck for the hint of a heartbeat. But his head just rolled limply with her movement and a little bead of sweat dropped from his chin onto her wrist.

"No," she said firmly—angrily. "No. No! Goddamnit, Steve Harrington, no!" She shook him violently, wrenching her body to pull him out of his stupor. "You can't leave me!" When he collapsed back into the seat, heartbreakingly lifeless, she slapped his face as hard as she could, sending a crack that shocked even her. She looked back at him and saw the truth, that he was gone. His blue lips were parted and dry. His eyelids were open a crack and the eyes beneath had developed a glassy film. Nancy brushed her fingers across them, closing his eyes to the anguish in her face and she buried herself in him, howling into the still-warm curve of his neck. "Don't leave me," she sobbed. "Don't leave me like everyone else."

The car grew warm as the sun broke the treetops and its rays shone golden beams into the passenger window. The light reflected on the microscopic teardrops that clung wetly to Nancy's eyelashes and the drying mist of sweat still masking Steve's face. He glimmered in its light, otherworldly, but beneath the shimmer, Nancy saw the draining color in his face as the blood pooled heavily in his lifeless body. She pressed her lips against his forehead and pulled herself off of him. Before climbing back over the seat, she reached to the floor and scooped up the pistol he'd dropped earlier.

Holly watched Nancy's movements keenly from next to the bus. The chrome finish gleamed blindingly in the early morning's rays and Nancy ducked her head to avoid the shine as she slammed the back door shut. She gripped the hood of the car, pressing the body of the handgun against its metal and closed her eyes, leaning helplessly against the doorframe. Her knees were weak, buckling into each other and her chest felt tight and constricted with every struggling breath. She tried to pull some semblance of thought together—what next? Call the police? The ambulance? She remembered the patrol car and the ambulance they'd passed along the highway. No one would come, even if she could find a phone.

She opened her eyes and forced herself to look at Steve's body, limply slouching in the passenger's seat. Would that be his burial? An old Ford was all she could offer her best friend? Then, unbidden, she was reminded of her other loved one's burials: a pond for her mother? A cliff for her lover? An abandoned town for her father? The Upside Down for Barb?

She clenched her teeth and made a deep, painful noise—something between a growl and a scream—then pounded her fists on the hood of the car, clacking the butt of the gun loudly. Holly jumped, her eyes opening even wider. She nervously worked her fingers through Barbie's hair. Nancy looked over the hood of the car to where Holly waited patiently, nervously. She only had Nancy. They only had each other. Nancy watched Holly and, gradually, her body relaxed. The gun fell back to its side. Her fists unfurled. That was her family—all that was left—and Holly, poor Holly, was entirely dependent on Nancy.

Tucking the gun into the back of her pants, Nancy circled the car. She marched up to Holly and knelt so she was just a few inches below Holly's scared blue eyes. She held her sister's tiny trembling hands and tried so hard to think of what to say, but all she could think of was their brother, their mother and father, Jonathan, Steve… She waited another minute before standing abruptly, breathing heavily through her nose.

Dwelling on the past—no matter how recent—would get them killed. Dwelling on the dead… she choked on the word, even as she thought of it. Then she looked back down at Holly—this single child and the one thing left in Nancy's world—and she steeled her resolve. They were the survivors and Nancy wasn't going to let herself crumble into despair. Nancy repeated the words to herself. She was a survivor. She was a fighter. She was Holly's guardian and she would protect her sister from now until the end.

Nancy marched over to the Ford and popped the trunk. She pushed a few things out of the way and lifted the mat that covered the spare tire. There, resting on top of the wheel was a tire iron. She wrapped her fist around it and, before closing the trunk again, pressed her forehead into the latch and concentrated. If she was going to focus solely on Holly, she had to first forget the past.

 _Forget Hawkins_ , she told herself. _Forget your life, forget your friends and your family. Forget Mom and Dad. Forget Mike. Forget Steve. Forget Barb. Forget Jonathan. Live here and now only. Live for Holly and live for nothing else._

She rubbed her fist into her eyes and slammed the trunk shut. Holly still nervously wrapped her fingers around Barbie, never moving her feet an inch, but twirling the doll over and over in her hands. Nancy stood in front of her and hesitantly held out the tire iron. She watched her sister—innocent and confused in every moment since the evacuation, her eyes concerned, her movements dainty and trembling. Nancy dropped her hand, pulling the tire iron away, rethinking her plan. She knelt down, dropped the iron to the pavement and held Holly by her arms.

"Holly," she said shakily, slowly. "Listen to me. I need you to forget everyone, okay? It's just you and me now. Everyone else is gone. No more Mom and Dad. No more Mike." Holly's bottom lip pouted slightly as she raised her hand and pointed at the Ford. Nancy pushed her hand down. "No," she said. "He's gone. Everyone is gone." She used her thumbs to turn Holly's face and square it with her own. "It's just you and me now, okay?" She waited until Holly nodded. "Listen carefully. This is important. From now on, you stay next to me. Never leave my side," she said sternly, not breaking eye contact. "No matter what, it's just you and me. Never leave my side and never leave my sight. Understand?"

Holly's eyes flicked back and forth between Nancy's, then she nodded a single, solid nod.

"Good," Nancy replied. She stood up, grabbed Holly's hand and together they began the tedious march ahead. They curved around the semi and in moments the Ford was hidden from Nancy's sight, blocking Steve from crawling back into her mind. She shut the door on him and everyone in her past. She shut everything out. No more Hawkins. No more Nancy.

 _Live for Holly and live for nothing else._

In her hand curled the single thing left in the world that mattered to her anymore. And to Holly she pledged her allegiance and her life. She tightened her grip on the tire iron, felt the solid pressure of the gun in her waistband and continued resolutely forward, curling around cars and open doors, stepping over fallen motorcycles and spilled suitcases. They walked through the morning as the clear, heavy blue sky turned to a midday white and the sun filtered down overhead. The parade of stalled and abandoned cars continued nonstop.

When Holly grew tired, Nancy boosted her onto her back and carried her, piggy-back style, through the rows of dead cars. Her weight was nominal, but as the sun rose, its heat beat down on them and Nancy felt the drain of exhaustion slowly starting to kick in. She was about to suggest they take a break when Holly began poking her shoulder anxiously. "Nancy," she said. "Nancy,"

Twisting her head around, Nancy followed Holly's extended finger pointing directly behind them. She followed the curve of the road to the horizon where she spotted a movement on the crest of the road. It was a form, weaving left and right as it moved toward them. Nancy unlocked her fingers beneath Holly and let the little girl down to the asphalt. She peered around quickly and located a car two lanes away with a door ajar. Pulling Holly by the arm, she tucked her into the front seat of the abandoned Volvo. "Stay here," Nancy breathed. "No matter what. Stay here." She tightened her grip on the tire iron and slid her other hand around the butt of the gun. "I'll take care of this. Stay quiet and stay low until I come back for you." She waited for Holly's nod before shutting the door and walking quickly away from the Volvo.

The figure in the distance was moving faster, dipping right and left with its rapid movement. It was staggering. Or was it limping? Nancy narrowed her eyes as she withdrew the gun and spun the tire iron in her hand, getting used to its weight. She let the adrenaline in her veins surge and waited, anxiously, as the figure grew on the horizon. Her scar tingled with the excitement of the fight, but she didn't pay attention to the feeling that was missing—the pressure of an otherworldly presence. As she bounced on her toes in anticipation, anger and ferocity growing, the presence was utterly lacking. And in the final moments, as the figure on the horizon materialized, her anticipation melted away and suddenly she was aware that she wasn't facing off with a Demogorgon. Her hands dropped. The tire iron hung limply and the gun pointed to the ground as she identified a dog, a human and a… _bicycle_?

Nancy took a few steps forward and the person slowed as he registered Nancy, standing in his path. She dropped the tire iron and held her hand over her eyes, shielding them from the sun's glare. She saw the pink of the bike's tire guard, purple tassels fluttering in the breeze and… that face, scarred, but, _that face_. "Lucas?" she asked, disbelievingly.

He stopped, spreading his legs and propping himself up while he used his hands, cupped over his eyes to identify Nancy. Next to him, a familiar blond dog settled on his haunches and licked his muzzle. The gun fell out of Nancy's hand as she watched Lucas' face go slack with doubt. She was running before she realized it and he was too, the bike forgotten behind him. They met between two work trucks and crashed into each other, sobbing and holding onto the other one desperately. It took a few minutes before Nancy opened her eyes again and the first thing she saw was that pink bike lying in the highway, its back tire spinning in the air. Lucas' arms were wrapped around her tightly, but he was silent, the tears having fallen and his sobs run dry.

Nancy curled her fingers into his shirt and pulled him back. "How are you here?" she asked. Her eyes crossed the two gruesome scars that split the left side of his face. They should have disturbed her more, but she found herself somehow easily capable of accepting his battles. "Hawkins is gone."

Lucas nodded, looking sideways. "The Demogorgons are everywhere," he admitted, squinting his eyes as he recalled his escape. "They took over, they…" He trailed off. He turned back to Nancy. "Where's Mike?" he asked.

Nancy chewed her bottom lip and stared back with dry eyes. She'd already closed the door on the past. Shaking her head, she looked over Lucas' shoulder. "Is that the Byers' dog?" she asked.

Lucas reached behind his head and tightened his camouflage bandanna. "Yep," he replied. He turned and snapped his fingers. The dog rushed over to his side. "We're the lone survivors of Hawkins," Lucas added. He clenched his jaw and patted the dog's chest.

Nancy stroked Orcus' neck and then collected her weapons. "Holly's waiting for me," she explained, turning around. As she marched away, she heard Lucas picking up the bike.

"Who else is alive?" his voice called from behind.

Nancy paused and narrowed her eyes, reminding herself again that she closed the door on the past. She forced her voice to answer calmly, "I don't know," and started forward again, spotting Holly's face peeking over the closed door of the Volvo. The sight of her little sister had an immediate calming effect. "We were all camped out at River Valley and," she peered over her shoulder, "the monsters attacked. A lot of people died." They reached the Volvo and Nancy opened the driver's side door. "Some people escaped," she added, glancing back at Lucas again. "So we're following them."

Lucas coasted to a stop and nodded at Holly as she climbed back onto the road. "Do you know who escaped?"

Nancy shrugged. "Will, I think," she said. "And Dustin, maybe." She looked up into the sky and sighed heavily. "Their parents, I guess." She couldn't quite hide the emptiness in her voice. That hollowness would never go away. It was the piece of her she was leaving behind.

Lucas was studying her. The scars moved smoothly with his expressions. They were both gruesome and exquisite—a testament to his survival and a token of his past. "What do we do now?" he asked. Nancy felt a shift in his words. He'd grouped himself together with her and Holly. They were a team—traveling together. Surviving together. Nancy pursed her lips, considering whether she was okay with that or not. She looked down at Holly who was openly staring at Lucas' scars, while absentmindedly brushing the dog. Nancy held out the tire iron. Lucas eyed it for a second, then wrapped his fist around it determinedly.

"We're going to Indianapolis," Nancy replied, "and we're going to fight."

 **(Not) The End**

* * *

Author's Note and Appendix: First, thank you so much for reading this fanfiction! I had a lot of fun writing it and obviously enjoy creating suspense. I hope you enjoyed it as well! Although this piece is complete, it isn't entirely over. The next installment will be a new story that is a sequel to this one (with lots of familiar characters and very minimal OCs). If you enjoyed this, please take a moment to read the synopsis below and skip to the next chapter which is a teaser (chapter one) of the sequel: _Twelve_. If you like it, you can give it a "follow" here: s/12283602/1/

Synopsis: It's 1995, over a decade after the Demogorgons breached the dimensions and the world is a dystopian shadow of itself. Thirty-six protected colonies are all that remain of North America. Outside of the colonies are the Badlands—an area unprotected and frequently ravaged by roaming Demogorgons. And beyond the Badlands lies the Vale. Living in the poverty-stricken twenty-fourth colony in the northeast is Twelve, a Demogorgon hunter and unlikely heroine.


	40. Chapter 40

A/N: Thank you for checking out my new Stranger Things Fanfic! This piece is something of a sequel from my first (which you can read here: s/12183864/1/). It takes place 12 years after the show. The Upside Down has merged with the modern world, enveloping half of the earth, creating a dystopian society where civilians live in colonies, protected from the Demogorgons by the Authority (military/government). POV is Twelve-a familiar young woman with a gift for killing Demogorgons.

* * *

Twelve 

One

Ted pulled his hat lower and shrugged his shoulders against the cold. His breath clouded the air in quick puffs, leaving microscopic dew drops in his mustache. Every footstep crunched through the thin layer of ice that had frozen over the week's snowfall. When he paused, Ted heard nothing. The world was all dead trees and ice and silence. He hated the winter; he always had. The unrelenting cold, the biting wind and sleepless nights. But this winter was the worst. Not yet February and three workers had frozen to death in their own homes.

If it had just been Ted, he'd manage. Somehow he'd get through. But there was Diane, his wife, and Teddy, his son. _And what man wouldn't do this for his family?_ he thought. He tightened his grip on the crowbar and forged ahead. Where did the working class get fuel and blankets and clothing when their salaries barely covered their food? The black market—the seedy underbelly of the dingy outer circle of Northeast's Sector 3. That's where he could get oil and heavy blankets and winter jackets and boots, but he needed to pay and with his weekly tokens barely covering their food, he needed to find another form of payment. And there was one thing the hawkers wanted: dead reapers.

Ted stopped again and lowered his shoulders, exposing his ears to the icy cold. He listened for any sound, the hint of movement, the telltale slow nickering of a reaper nearby, but the Badlands were silent. Ahead the trees cleared to reveal a patch of bare sumac. Ted ducked beneath their branches, breaking off the more brittle twigs as he passed. Gradually the underbrush cleared, revealing a sloping, snow-covered lawn and a sprawling, two-story grey building. On the far side of the grounds was an old, overgrown parking lot and in between the lot and Ted was an elaborate, wooden playground. The swings had long ago fallen and the slide was rusted, but in all, it was still a marvel of the time before the reapers and the Vale. The sight relaxed Ted and for some reason, brought tears to his eyes. His grip relaxed on the crowbar and he imagined the schoolyard flooded with laughing children, singing and playing, racing across the wooden turrets and slipping down the slide.

He'd gone to an elementary school a lot like this one in Pittsburgh. The playground hadn't been as nice, of course, but he still remembered fondly his days there—the friends, the teachers, recess. And high school. Of course there was no recess in high school—he smiled to himself—but still, what a wonderful time to be alive! Before the reapers came. Ted's eyes darkened. Before the south was swallowed by the Vale and the north was broken into sectors and colonies governed by fear and hunger.

A movement between two wooden playground towers brought Ted's thoughts to a sudden halt. He withdrew slightly into the overgrowth and retightened his grip on the black crowbar at his side. The form reappeared and immediately he recognized it as human. It was a woman. He squinted. She was carrying something small and had a baton strapped to her belt. Ted cocked his head. What was she doing? Being in the Badlands without authorization was illegal. Everyone knew that. And yet…

The woman stood up straight and took a long, slow look around. She wore close-fitting clothes with a military-grade jacket. But she wasn't military. Her clothes were black and grey, not the blue of the Authority. And there was something familiar about that baton.

Ted froze as her eyes raked across the tree line. His clothes, filthy from long days at work, blended into the thicket and the woman hadn't seemed to notice. After scanning her surroundings, she bent at the waist and extended whatever was clutched in her right hand. Ted watched a stream of black suddenly shoot out from the object and splatter against the snow. She turned and shot another jet against the wooden tower beside her. A third, fourth and, finally, fifth splash marked the ice and snow that surrounded the woman. She straightened and tucked the object into her jacket pocket. Ted strained to see what she'd sprayed on the ground, but it just looked like black splatters. Dye? Ink? Was she marking the spot for something?

The woman seemed to relax then. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight, kicking up one foot casually. She seemed to be waiting for something. Ted felt the answer dawning on him as the liquid, slowly melting a path through the snow, left tracks of red against the white. Blood. Suddenly Ted knew what she was waiting for. He felt the crowbar in his hand and his eyes fell again to her slender baton. His heart lurched. She'd be torn to shreds!

Abandoning his secrecy, Ted emerged from the woods, crunching through the ice-crusted snow. The woman abruptly tensed. It took Ted a moment to realize she wasn't responding to his appearance. She was looking straight ahead to where a reaper was stalking out from between the crowded branches of a row of white pines.

Ted froze. He'd never been this close to a real-life reaper. It stood at least seven feet high; its body was a coiled mass of muscles and each deliberate step sent a ripple of power and strength across the yard. Its jaws were snapped shut, folded together to create a hawk-like sharpness in the reaper's face. Weaving its head left and right, it seemed to be seeking out the blood and then it locked on, snapping its head in the direction of the woman, it crouched low for an attack.

Ted surprised himself when he screamed, "Run!"

Both the woman and the reaper turned abruptly to look at him, but the reaper couldn't be distracted for long. It lunged forward, racing for the blood. "Run!" Ted screamed again, darting toward the woman with his crowbar raised.

She didn't flinch. With deft movement, she removed the baton and braced herself. Before the reaper reached her, she glanced at Ted out of the corner of her eyes and said clearly, "Stay away."

Her words didn't slow his momentum, but her movements stopped him in his tracks.

The reaper reached out and in a blinding flash, she'd swung the baton, catching the creature's elbow as it extended for her. Its upper body twisted left from the strike and the woman took the opportunity to swing the baton again, landing it against the outside of the reaper's left leg, spinning its lower body right. The reaper fell to the ground and Ted watched, his jaw open, crowbar slipping out of his limp fingers. In an instant the reaper was back up, slashing at the woman who dodged and repelled his attacks with an almost bored look on her face.

She moved faster than the reaper. Ted couldn't understand it. It was inhuman. The baton struck two more times. "Come on," he heard her say. "Open up." When the reaper turned aside for a moment, she pulled back, doubled her grip on the baton, planted her feet and swung, two-handed. The baton struck the side of the reaper's torso and the ensuing crunch told Ted she'd crushed part of its carapace. The reaper's head finally unfolded, five jaws simultaneously swinging open to reveal the terrifying maw within and it roared a horrible, blood-curdling sound. Remarkably, the woman smiled and in the split second after the reaper's roar had ended, Ted heard the high-pitched whistle of charged electricity. He realized then what the woman was, and witnessed as she lazily struck the reaper one last time, touching her charged baton to the moist membrane inside its mouth. The reaper froze in an awkward, contorted position, before crumbling to the ground like an empty husk.

The entire fight had only lasted half a minute, but the impression it left on Ted was staggering. He stared at the reaper—the monster that haunted his nightmares, that destroyed the modern world, that slaughtered civilians who left the safety of the colonies—and stood in awe at the wreckage it had been reduced to by a single girl. As he watched, the reaper's chest rose and fell in labored breathing.

"It's not dead," he said, looking up at the woman. She stared back at him with striking blue eyes and sharp features. A chestnut brown ponytail curled out from beneath her black skullcap and her cheeks were freckled underneath the red flush from the cold. He pegged her at late-twenties, early-thirties.

"What are you doing here?" she asked impatiently. She looked him up and down. Ted was trying to understand how she wasn't out of breath when she added, "You're not supposed to be here. It isn't safe."

Ted stared openly at her, glancing once more at the reaper. "You're a Slayer," he said. When she didn't deny it, he nodded his head. "I've never seen anyone move like that. I've never met a Slayer who could take down a reaper in less than a minute."

Her expression was impassive. "You've never met me," she said simply.

Ted was quiet for a moment while he tried to piece together the situation. The Slayers were part of an elite guild sanctioned by the Authority to hunt and kill reapers. They were professional monster hunters and it was one of the most dangerous jobs. There were almost no female Slayers, except…

Ted looked at the unconscious reaper again, the oozing puncture in its torso from her baton, and the pieces fell together. He snapped back to her, eyes wide and disbelieving. "You're _Twelve_ ," he said in awe. The legendary Slayer—right in front of him.

She gazed at him for a few unblinking seconds, then turned away. Holding up her right hand, she pointed at a shiny black band around her wrist. A red light was rhythmically blinking from the center of the band. "The Authority will be here soon," she said flatly. "I suggest you return to your hiding spot." She lifted her chin toward the woods. Nothing in her tone suggested she had any interest in talking, so Ted turned around and walked back into the underbrush. Less than five minutes later, a black cargo truck eased into the parking lot. Ted watched five people get out. The main one, a man with dark, short hair and wearing a crisp suit, led the other four—all dressed in blue grunt overalls.

The woman showed no signs of the nervousness Ted would have felt face-to-face with the authority. The man in the suit appraised the reaper. He nudged it with the tip of his shiny shoe. The woman didn't move when the suit passed her, inspecting the stains in the snow. "What is this, B-positive?" his voice carried across the yard.

The girl hesitated and Ted watched the man turn to her, silently demanding an answer. She finally said, barely audibly, "O-negative."

The man's face broke into an unpleasant, triumphant grin and under his smug stare, the woman finally shrank a little. "Oh, you _are_ a piece of work," he laughed. He moved closer, standing just a few inches away from Twelve. He crossed his arms, bearing down on her with that menacing sneer. "Are you selling her blood yet?" Twelve made an involuntary movement and the man laughed. "Take it easy; I don't blame you. No one would," he chuckled darkly. For a long, uncomfortable minute, he studied her, then continued, "No, you're not selling. In fact, I bet no one even knows you have an O-neg ward. That would put her in too much danger. You'd have drainers kicking down the door." He exhaled loudly. Behind him, the grunts were taking measurements of the reaper and unrolling a narrow tarp next to its body.

The woman still hadn't made a sound. "You've cultivated a hell of an image," the man continued, the smile quickly vanishing from his lips. "Protector of the weak, unlikely heroine, femme fatale… _Twelve_. What would your fan club think of you draining a minor?"

She stared back at him unflinchingly. "Just give me my tokens, Thompson," she said.

With a look of disappointment, Thompson motioned to one of his workers. "Give her a token, Hank," he said.

A towheaded man directing the other three grunts as they dragged away the reaper turned to face his boss. He nodded respectfully and withdrew a large metal coin from a pouch on his belt, handing it to Twelve. After nodding again to Thompson, Hank joined the rest of the workers hauling the reaper to the truck.

" _One_ ," Twelve said incredulously. "You can't be serious, Thompson. I need at least two."

The suit openly laughed. "Then take out another Demogorgon," he mocked.

"You owe me at _least_ two for that one!" she replied, balling her fists at her side.

Thompson stopped laughing. "That was an adolescent," he said, moving uncomfortably close to her. "You want two? Take down an adult." He exhaled heavily from his nose and stepped back. "Shouldn't be a problem for you." He turned and walked away. Before reaching the parking lot, he called over his shoulder, "You could always sell a pint of that O-negative. I bet that would bring in an extra token." With a bark of laughter, he climbed into the truck as his workers finished loading the reaper.

Ted was already out of the woods when the truck was pulling out. He walked up to Twelve, but kept his eyes on the taillights as they vanished around the corner. In front of him, Twelve was flipping the token around in her palm. Her eyes were narrowed and lips pinched tightly.

"I can't believe I'm meeting you," he gushed. Despite the uncomfortable exchange that he'd just witnessed, Ted couldn't stop himself from grinning broadly. He tried to imagine what his son's reaction would be when Ted recounted the story tonight. Teddy was going to be so jealous. "You're the most well-known Slayer," he continued, excitedly.

Twelve looked at him without lifting her head, her icy eyes staring coolly as he practically bounced with enthusiasm. She snorted and shook her head.

Misreading her reaction, Ted pushed, "I'm serious; you're famous. You're a legend."

Twelve pocketed the token and faced him. "I'm not a Slayer," she said flatly. Before he could protest, she added, "There are no more Slayers." Ted looked at her confusedly and she changed the topic, motioning to the snowy gravel where the reaper had been. "What are you doing out here?" she asked. She nodded to his crowbar. "You're not going to take down a Demogorgon with that. You're just going to get yourself killed."

Ted felt embarrassed holding the cheap weapon in front of her. After witnessing a reaper's attack in real life he realized that she was right. The Slayers were trained to take reapers out and even Slayers didn't always survive a fight. He cleared his throat and replied sheepishly, "I needed a reaper. I figured I'd give it a try." Hearing himself mumble weakly, he added, puffing out his chest, "I'm strong. I'm a lumberjack." He raised his eyebrows. "It's hard work."

Twelve blinked a few times in silence. He noticed her bottom lip stuck out just a bit further than her top, giving her a slightly pouty look. "What are you going to do with a reaper?" she asked finally.

"There's a guy who will pay five tokens for a dead reaper," he explained. After a moment of stunned silence, he added, "Dead, but in good condition." Another few seconds of silence. He continued, "It's a black market kind of thing." Ted shrugged nonchalantly then wondered if he was saying too much.

Twelve's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What's the guy's name?" she asked.

Ted shuffled his feet uncomfortably. He'd never actually met the guy, but word travelled around the labor division—the network that needed black market trade most of all. He swallowed heavily and repeated the name he'd heard again and again: "Dustin."

She actually laughed and rolled her eyes. "Dustin!" she repeated. "Fucksake. Seriously? He's paying for dead reapers?"

Ted shrugged his eyebrows. Desperate to change topics, he pivoted the conversation. "What did you mean when you said there are no more Slayers?" he asked.

She dropped her eyes, looking at the melted spot where the reaper had lain before being collected. She hesitated before answering and when she finally responded, she seemed fed up. "You were the one who was surprised that I left it alive," she said motioning to the ground. "Well, that's what I meant. We don't _slay_ anymore. The term _Slayer_ is a bit of a misnomer since we're forbidden to kill the Demogorgons." She clenched her jaw and rolled her head agitatedly.

"Since when?" Ted asked. "I thought that was your job."

Twelve glared at the ground. "The job description changed," she said shortly. "The Authority wants them alive." She shook her head and smiled with the side of her mouth, tired of reliving the frustration. "Where can I find Dustin?" she asked, turning to the man. But she stopped short when he fell to his knees next to her. The crowbar toppled to the ground and he lurched forward, landing in the snow. In the back of his neck was a vivid orange dart.

Twelve took a step backward and cursed under her breath. The woods were suddenly alive with the grunts from earlier. She scanned the parking lot, but the truck wasn't there. They must have parked a street over. To her left, Thompson emerged from the trees, looking unbearably smug. His men were already collecting the unconscious man at her feet. Twelve took another step back, fighting the instinct to run. As usual, Thompson could read her every urge and actually stopped to chuckle at her discomfort.

She felt the pressure of her belt, the baton at her side. One hit and she could crush his skull. She shook her head. _Swallow your pride. Remember your priorities_. Thompson raised a single eyebrow at the man who was being dragged away. He _tsk_ ed her and spread his feet, planting himself between her and his workers. He was provoking her. He _wanted_ her to react. Twelve forced herself to relax, to unfurl her fists, unknot her core, drop her shoulders. She took a single deep breath and looked into Thompson's repulsive grey eyes.

"That was confidential information you were disclosing to a civilian," he said lazily. "That is not permitted and you know it."

Twelve felt a chill run down her spine. "Don't," she said suddenly. But she saw the purpose and contempt in his eyes. He loathed her as much as she did him. "Please don't," she pleaded, holding her hands up defensively.

He tipped his head and gave her a condescending smirk. "Strike Two, Wheeler."


End file.
